From the Truth of a Thousand Lies
by J-Marine.The.Dragon
Summary: Dante knows the truth, now: Talon planned to kill his sister. He was nothing more than a backup for if things went wrong. And he swore to burn them to the ground. If he has to burn with them, if he dies while planting bombs in the Vessels' facility, then so be it. (Part TWO of Chasing Down the Gods)
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hi, I'm back! It's been a while, but I promised a sequel, so here it is: _From the Truth of a Thousand Lies._ Or, Dante's ongoing moral crisis. I have NOT finished writing the entire thing, so updates are going to come a bit more slowly, but I have some free time, so hopefully I'll be able to set time aside to write. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own The Talon Saga or Dante. I do own the bullet currently lodged in his ninth thoracic.**

 **I made this promise at the beginning of** _There's a Devil in the Church,_ **and I'll make it again: I promise not to kill Dante. This entire story is an attempt to redeem him without getting him dead, because I don't like the redemption=death trope. That being said, that's the only promise that I'm making. If you remember, last time I promised that, I shot him in the first paragraph. Good luck, readers.**

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First mistake: He lied to Ember in Crescent Beach. He promised that he'd go rogue with her, and he should have followed through. Or he should have _told_ her that he was going to stay. He shouldn't have called Lilith on her. That night had been where it all truly started. He could have avoided _all_ of this if he had just chosen his sister over the organization.

Second mistake: He sent Faith after Ember. That choice still hurt to think about, not only because it shattered all trust that Ember had in him, but because it ended with a dead hatchling that he knew he was responsible still had nightmares about her.

Third mistake: The vessel project. The entire thing was one big mistake, tied off with forty-two humans dead on his orders.

Fourth mistake: Capturing Ember, Cobalt, and Garret. Ordering the Cobalt's and the soldier's deaths, even though he promised Ember that they wouldn't come under harm. Letting _Luther_ of all people interrogate them, even though everyone in Talon knew that he was a sadist. Turning his sister over to the organization and _trusting_ them. Never questioning the Elder Wyrm's motives.

Fifth mistake: That night, when he ordered the vessels kill the underground that Ember called her family.

"Dear god, you've finally snapped."

Dante turned around to meet Hamsah's eyes, which were widened in horror. His hair was pulled back in a lopsided ponytail, and sweat still shone off his forehead.

"Are the outside chores finally getting to you?" Dante asked instead of giving a response. "Or is Jade still having you lead combat lessons?"

"You're _actually_ cleaning out the fridge," Hamsah continued. "Desperate times have fallen upon you if you're attacking that nightmare."

"Well, we knew it was going to happen eventually."

"Do you need an intervention?"

Dante put down the carton of eggs on the counter and fixed Hamsah with a glare. Hamsah returned it with a raised eyebrow and crossed arms. Dante shook his head and turned back to his task. He had already taken all of the food out of the fridge and completely cleaned off the first shelf, and he still didn't know what to do or what he was going to say to Ember. He had made so many mistakes. How could he begin to put it all into _words?_

"What's troubling you, Dante Hill?" Hamsah walked over to him and sat down on the counter.

"Why do you care?"

"Because I'm your _friend_ , I think. Isn't that what friends do? Care over their sad friends?"

"I'm not sad."

"You're so sad."

Dante groaned, and Hamsah leaned over to steal the dishrag from his loose grip. He held it over his head before Dante could grab it back and kept him at bay with his legs. Two soft, but still meaningful, kicks to his chest and Dante gave up. He sighed and flicked a strand of hair out of his eyes.

"Come _on,_ Dante Hill. You aren't going to find any answers in the fridge. What's wrong?" Hamsah asked. Dante looked back at the fridge. "It's your deadline, isn't it?"

Dante's shoulders slumped, and he closed the fridge to lean against it. "They said that they'd be back by sundown, which means two hours before… I mean, I'm happy that she's coming back, and I'm relieved that she's coming back intact. I've missed her. But what can I _say?_ "

"I think you start with _sorry._ "

"That doesn't cover it, Hamsah. I nearly killed her back in Talon, _and_ Cobalt, _and_ her... boyfriend." That word still came hard to his lips. _Boyfriend._ His sister had a _boyfriend._ "And I _did_ kill others that she knows about. I have everything to be sorry for, so how do I... how do I cover it?"

"You do know that _you're_ the ex-chameleon, right?" Hamsah quirked an eyebrow. "You're the one who has a way with words. I have no business with giving you advice with them, being a former viper-trainee."

"You're the least helpful person right now."

"I'm better than Kain. You might want to ask Astatine, though. She's good with the touchy-feely things. Got me out of my shell."

Dante closed his eyes. He was so _screwed_. Why couldn't he have just _gone_ with Ember when she first left Crescent Beach? Why couldn't he have left the organization before his hands were covered in blood? Why couldn't…

"Hey, hey, you'll be _fine,_ " Hamsah said. "She's your sister, she still loves you. Nothing can change that. She's going to forgive you. And then you'll start crying, and she'll start crying, and we'll have to deal with two crying sixteen-year-olds. Seriously, that's what'll happen, I guarantee it."

"You think?" Dante asked. His voice sounded small and vulnerable, so unlike how he had spoken back in Talon.

"I'd bet… fifty dollars."

"Neither of us have money."

"Aren't you the buzzkill. How about… five hundred in Monopoly money. Next time we play, the loser gives the winner five hundred dollars at the start of the game. Might be the only way that I can win against you."

"Well, if you're willing to be Monopoly money, I guess that I have to believe you," Dante rolled his eyes and tried to make another grab for the dishrag. Hamsah held it further over his head. Dante got another dishrag from the sink.

"You know, _I_ never had siblings," Hamsah said, twirling the dishrag. "But I've always wanted one. They seem fun. The closest thing I have is Astatine Lopez, and she's great."

Dante thought back to his conversation with her several days ago. She was years younger than Hamsah, and yet still fiercely protective over him. Even with Astatine's promised second chance and her more casual demeanor around Dante, she still made it clear that she didn't trust him, and that she would gut him if he so much as _touched_ Hamsah.

"Yeah, she's pretty much your sister," he said.

"If I wronged her…" Hamsah muttered, voice fading out. Dante re-opened the refrigerator and continued to try to clean the mold off of the second shelf. "I mean, she's a bit less inclined to forgive than Ember Hill."

"You don't know Ember like I do." _But do I really know her?_ Dante shook himself. After Ember came back, he could mend the relationship. That was all that mattered at the current moment. "Can you give me the vinegar?"

"Nope. You have to talk about your emotions like any other normal, well-adjusted person."

Dante groaned and walked around Hamsah to get the bottle of vinegar himself. Walking was getting easier every day, but it wasn't anywhere _near_ the point it had been before he was shot. It still hurt to stand for any longer than a few minutes, he still walked with a definite limp, and he'd stumble or trip pretty often. Spending so long on his feet while cleaning out the refrigerator would probably render him unable to get out of bed the next day. But he wasn't bound to his cot anymore. He could _walk._ There had been a few days where he didn't think he'd get that far.

Hamsah lightly kicked him again, right at the small of his back. Dante nearly fell over.

"You can't hide in the refrigerator forever, Dante Hill."

"I _know_ that," Dante groaned. "It just… I can't talk to her now. I can't go out and take a walk to clear my thoughts, or train with you and everyone else to get my mind off of it, or—" he swallowed thickly. "I can't exactly fly away from my problems." _Never again._ "But I can do this."

Hamsah looked down and put the dishrag back in the sink. Then he slowly reached over, taking the vinegar from Dante's unprotesting hands.

"You know, I can't fly, either," Hamsah said softly. Date blinked and looked at him, furrowing his brow. "Wes did his best to set my wings and stitch up the skin, but there's a lot of membrane that's missing, and there's some nerve damage. I can still shift, and I hope that I'll be able to make a full recovery with enough time, but… yeah. You're not alone in all of this. And you're not alone with Ember, either. We've all done stupid shit."

"My 'stupid shit' has gotten people killed."

"Dante Hill…" Hamsah sighed and hopped off the counter. He placed his hands on Dante's shoulders and made solid eye contact. In spite of himself, Dante froze. "Sometimes you need to look at what you've done, recognize you messed up, and move on. I'm not saying to pretend that you did nothing wrong, but whipping yourself over it isn't going to change the past. It's not going to make your sister forgive you." Dante winced, and Hamsah flicked his temple. "She already has, idiot. You just need to acknowledge it. Grovelling may or may not help."

"You don't—"

"I saw her run into St. George lines to save their asses, and drag _us_ along with her, all because she refuses to believe that they can't be saved. If she doesn't extended the same grace to you, then I'm losing five hundred dollars worth of Monopoly Money."

Dante looked away and felt his lips twitch, even though the idea of seeing Ember again still made him want to lock himself in the storm shed until she forgot that he existed

"I'm not going to cry," He muttered. Hamsah gave a pointed look, cocking his head to the side. "I'm _not._ "

"Sure you're not, Dante Hill."

"I'm _not._ "

"That's what I just said," Hamsah grinned and ruffled Dante's hair. Dante growled and tried to smooth it back to normal, tucking a loose strand behind his ear. "Do you want help putting the food back in the fridge?"

"Yes please," Dante nodded. It was only half cleaned, but he doubted that Hamsah was going to let him finish and stew in his own nerves for any longer. "And… thanks. For everything."

Hamsah nodded and grabbed the carton of eggs sitting on the counter.

It took forty minutes for them to put everything back in its respective place, mostly because Hamsah kept taking breaks to eat whatever was in his hands at the given moment, but by the time they finished, Ember still wasn't back. Not sunset yet.

Dante was torn between wanting more time to figure out what to say, and wanting to get it over with. He missed Ember. He wanted to see her again and talk like they used to. But they couldn't go back to normal, not really, and they couldn't even try unless she forgave him. What if she decided that he wasn't worth it?

"What is… the best memory you have with Ember?" Hamsah asked as he hopped back onto the counter. Dante sat down as well, but the ache in his spine didn't dissipate. He supposed he had asked for it.

"What?"

"Best memory."

"Um…" Dante blinked, thinking back over the years. There was the time they had tried to run away for an afternoon to see a horror film, the adventures they had while learning to drive, the times they went flying together in the rain… so many moments he had kept close to his heart for when he needed them.

"She used to draw constellations on my arms," he said, almost to himself. "I never even thought of it before, but when we were both stressed, she'd get out these silver sharpies and map them all out. I never really cared about space, but I hated washing them off. And one time we tried to run away in the middle of finals. They dropped us off in the middle of the desert, and she managed to convince me to just walk to the town over instead of navigating our way back. And she once stayed up with me for the entire night because I was nervous about a surgery I had in the morning. And… God, I'm an idiot."

"A little bit, yeah," Hamsah nodded and undid his ponytail, letting his hair fall around his shoulders. "But aren't we all? You two have sixteen years of history. Who in their right mind would give that up just because her brother made a few months worth of awful decisions?"

" _Really_ awful decisions."

"You're impossible," Hamsah groaned. "I'm _trying_ to be _supportive._ Should I get Astatine? She's better at—"

"No, no, I just… need to get over myself," Dante muttered.

Hamsah gave a heavy sigh, hopped off the counter, and walked over to the window to keep watch. "Think about it this way. You only have to go through this conversation once."

Dante closed his eyes and groaned. He had never been so nervous over a conversation, not even the ones with the Elder Wyrm. Because with the Elder Wyrm, he could fall back on his training. That wouldn't _work_ for Ember, and even if it did, he wouldn't be able to bring himself to lie to her.

 _God,_ he was a wreck.

"And…" Hamsah continued. "It seems like you'll be able to go through it pretty soon." Dante opened his eyes to look at Hamsah, who grimaced. "Guess who just pulled into the driveway?"

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 **I managed to make it 2,000 whole words without hurting someone. I deserve an award.**

 **Love it? Hate it? Have any ideas about where it should go? Leave a review and make my day! Please!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: My laptop had some issues, so I'm behind on writing, but I have the second chapter, this time with Ember being back. I missed her.**

 **Without further ado: Dante's Moral Crisis, 2.2.**

If the situation were even slightly different, Ember would be nothing but ecstatic about getting out of the back of the truck. And she _was_ relieved. It had been two days in the dark, healing from her broken wing, with nothing but smalltalk to keep her and the other four dragonelles distracted. Not that it was really smalltalk by the forty-eight hour limit. The others had started out talking about what they remembered from the outside world and more current events, but as time went by, the topics grew more personal. And by the last few hours, Ember found herself on the topic of Dante.

It had been three weeks. Jade had kept them all updated, and she _said_ that he was recovering well and coming around— even making _friends_ — but all that Ember could remember was how sickly and confused she had left him.

"Hey, Firebrand." Riley nudged her shoulder and gave a nod to Garret. "Look, St. George and Wes and I can get everything set up in the barn and the stormshed. You should go up to the farmhouse."

"What?" Ember asked. "It's just a strained wing, Riley. I'm not an invalid."

"Well, _you're_ not. Your brother, on the other hand…"

"Seriously?"

"Sorry, that was low," Riley winced. "Wes must be rubbing off on me. But the point is, you've been stressing over him for weeks. You should check on him before you explode."

"Riley…" Ember's voice bordered on either a whine or a groan. She had spent days with these dragonelles, and she _wanted_ to help them settle in and make sure that they were happy with their situation. Or maybe that was just her most pressing obligation. Because she also wanted to make sure that her brother was really as okay as Jade said he was.

"Thank you," she whispered, before turning towards the farmhouse and making a beeline past the other dragons and soldiers, ignoring the one question directed at her as she reached the porch.

"Hi, Ember." Nettle was standing by the window next to another girl, who looked over her and gave a nod. "The soldiers are a good thing, right? We're not about to die?"

"No, you're not in danger, we have an alliance going on," Ember said. "We'll catch everyone up as soon as we get everyone settled in. There are… a lot of new dragons. We're going to need to need to figure out sleeping arrangements. And shower schedules. Where's Dante?"

"Last time I checked, he was in the kitchen. He was talking about barricading himself in his room, but Hamsah talked him out of it," Nettle said. "You should probably talk to him before he has a breakdown."

"Or you could let him stew for a bit longer," the other girl said, a slight smirk on her lips as she adjusted rose-tinted glasses. "Great things happen when he's nervous. Give him another few hours, and he'll have the cupboards organized." That _did_ sound like the Dante she grew up with. And it meant that he was, in fact, walking. But that also meant _both_ of them were nervous, and she was desperately hoping that at least one of them would be able to keep their cool.

"Ember Hill."

Ember turned around to see a boy leaning against the doorframe leading to the kitchen. He had golden-brown skin, bleached hair that fell over his shoulders, visible tattoos on his head and arm, and a strained smile. She recognized him almost immediately— he was one of the guys who tried to attack Garret.

"That's me," she said cooly. "Can I help you?"

"Nope," He shook his head and pushed himself off the doorframe. "I just thought that I should warn you that Dante has been stressing for the past twelve hours, and I have failed to calm him down, so he's your problem now. Don't… yell at him. Please. I just spent several hours convincing him that you weren't going to do that. Okay? Okay, good talk. We're going to have a conversation about where the hell you and Cobalt and Wes were, right? And why we have so many new dragons coming in?"

"And the soldiers of St. George," the girl interjected.

"Please don't remind me of their existence."

"Yeah, yeah… lots of things to talk about," Ember nodded. _Not looking forward to that._

She must have shown something in her face, because a moment later, the boy put hand on her shoulder. She grabbed his wrist out of instinct, and he twisted it out of her grasp just as fast, putting his hand up in a sign of surrender, even though his posture remained perfectly relaxed.

"Focus on your brother first," he whispered, something akin to sympathy on his face. "That's something the both of you can control."

Ember nodded, and the boy stepped away from her, leaving the way to the kitchen open. She took a breath, a nervous tangle coming up from her chest again. It had been months since Crescent Beach, and he had changed so much since then. _She_ had changed, too, more than she realized or liked to admit. And sure, they had been able to talk while he was recovering, but most of those conversations were while he was delirious. What if there wasn't enough between them anymore to return to how things were? What if he didn't even want to try?

Well, they had to start _somewhere._ Ember shook her head and crossed into the kitchen, eyes going to the table and falling on her brother, just as he looked up from his hands.

He looked… _good._

His skin had color; it was still much paler than how it used to be, but he was no longer grey from sickness, the bags under his eyes were gone, and there was a light in his eyes that hadn't been there was she left. He had regained some of the weight he had lost while in bed. No haircut yet, but he had shaved in the past few days, and he looked like he had taken some time making himself look presentable. And he was _sitting—_ slightly hunched over, and obviously stiff, but still upright instead of lying down.

"Hi," he rasped, planting a hand on the table as he tried to stand. Ember pulled a chair out from the table, turned it to face Dante's, and sat down before he could get more than halfway up. The memory of his pain at every movement was too recent in her mind.

"Hi yourself," she responded. Dante wrung his hands and looked away from her. "You're… doing better?"

"Yeah. I'm great. Up and walking, at least… everyone here has been…" Dante took another breath. "They're really nice. I can see why you like them."

Ember nodded and looked at the floor. It looked almost unnaturally clean, as if someone had gotten on their knees and dedicated a few hours to scrubbing all of the dirt off of it. The entire kitchen looked clean, really. If she didn't know any better, she'd think that the space was inhabited by one or two people instead of fifteen and counting.

"You've been—"

"I'm sorry."

Ember's head snapped towards Dante, who was staring at his hands.

"I… I should've gone with you in Crescent Beach, I shouldn't have told Lilith where you were, and I shouldn't have sent Faith after you. And— and the vessel project is on me, and that trailer town is my fault, I killed forty-two people, and then I captured you and Cobalt and Garret, and I just _left._ I— I didn't know about the Elder Wyrm. I never would have let her touch you if I had known, but I was desperate and _stupid,_ I never should have trusted her with your life, and now— now—"

He was reaching towards her, hand hovering between them as if he was scared that she'd slap it away. Ember reached up and took it. Dante stopped talking, eyes meeting hers.

"I…" Ember swallowed. Then she got out of her chair, pulled Dante to his feet, and pulled him into a tight hug. Dante stiffened at the contact, and she could feel the trembling in his shoulders.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered, voice breaking.

"It's behind us, now," she said. Her own voice was trembling. "We both made it, didn't we? Isn't that what matters?"

"You could have _died._ I nearly killed you! I..."

And his legs collapsed under him. Ember tightened her grip, and Dante tried to scramble back to his feet, but the weight brought them both to the ground. He was crying. _Sobbing._ He had never cried before.

"You nearly died, too, remember?" Ember said, arm brushing over the uneven part in his spine, where Riley's bullet was still lodged. He had no idea how close he had come to dying when Wes and Riley brought him back, barely able to breathe through the blood in his lungs, unable to be moved from the van for hours on end, held together by medical tape and pressure bandages. It was nothing short of a miracle that he had lived.

"I needed the wakeup call," Dante mumbled and sniffed.

"Yeah, but not like _that._ You…" Ember took a steadying breath and felt tears burn at the edge of her vision. "I'm just glad I have you back, tweedledum."

"I'm…" He kept shaking, breaths coming out uneven gasps for air. "I missed you so much. And… and not just when you were gone on the mission, it hurt ever since Crescent Beach. I should have _never…_ " Dante's voice faded, and he continued to cry. Ember was crying too, barely able to see through her tears. Dante was okay, he was still breathing, he was _walking,_ and he wasn't angry at everyone or confused over his position. He was back.

He was _home._

"I'm glad I'm back, too," Dante whispered. "And hey, I only have a busted up spine to show for it. Could've been a lot worse."

Ember snorted and squeezed him tighter. "I doubt it."

"No, really. I could've figured it out in Talon and been killed by the Elder Wyrm or Lilith. Or— or I could've been in the dark until she killed you." He shuddered and tightened his grip around Ember. "I think I'm okay with my price, y'know? Not like I… I don't shift much anyway, and this isn't the worst body to get stuck in. No worse than my real one, at least."

"Dante…" she whispered. "Of course you'd be the one to try and rationalize this."

"Beats actually thinking about it for more than a few seconds," he muttered. "I'm… I'm scared. About my back, I mean. It hurts all the time, and I can't shift, but if I can say that it's not the worst thing that could happen, it takes some of the pure, unbridled terror over the fact that I was shot. I was a Chameleon. I didn't expect that to happen in my life."

Ember gave a broken laugh and broke away from him, wiping her eyes. "I wish it didn't."

"I'm glad that I'm here, though. And…" Dante swallowed thickly and wiped the tears out of his eyes. " _Shit._ I owe Hamsah 500 dollars next time we play Monopoly. I said I wouldn't cry. I just..." Dante took a shaking breath. "I want to make amends, Ember." He met her eyes. "I'm ready to help you."

Ember blinked. For a moment, she had forgotten that Dante still had information about Talon. She had just cared about getting her brother back, and that was enough. But he had been in Talon the most recently, and he had been working next to the Elder Wyrm. He had _overseen_ the vessel project. If he gave them enough information…

They could win the war.

 **A/N: I've now made it 4,000 words without injuring anyone. This might be a personal record.**

 **Please, please, please review and become my Favorite Person (TM)**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: So, as of now, I have actually finished** _From the Truth of a Thousand Lies,_ **so it's just going to be a matter of editing it and posting it from my end. I promise that it won't be abandoned.** **Cool? Cool.**

 **Anyway, enjoy this chapter.**

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"Infierno."

Dante swallowed and bit the inside of his cheek. He had prepared for this. He had organized everything that he needed to say. Granted, it was all in his head, and that was short-circuiting, but he felt that reading off of a paper or index cards would be a worse alternative. He never used to be this nervous. About _anything,_ including most of his meetings with the Elder Wyrm. This was just a one-on-one meeting with a juvenile in a run-down kitchen.

"Hi."

That was _not_ how he was supposed to start this conversation.

"I'll be completely upfront with you, this time. You royally fucked up over the past year," Cobalt said. Dante pursed his lips and turned to look out the window, where the sky had long since faded from the red of sunset to complete blackness. The house was still noisy, from other hatchlings finding sleeping arrangements, talking about St. George, or simply not wanting to go to sleep. The farmhouse was going to be crowded from here on out. "From my count, you set Lilith on us, set Faith and Mist on us, helped kickstart the dragon apocalypse, set the dragon apocalypse on us, let me and Garret be tortured by _Luther,_ who I hate on a personal level, and… nearly got Ember killed. That brings us up to date."

Dante was silent for a few moments. There was really nothing to say to that.

"Sorry?" he tried.

"Thanks," Cobalt said dryly. "Sorry for shooting you in the spine, while we're at it."

Dante shrugged, trying to play it off as something unconcerned. His back burned from the strain of staying upright so late in the day, after hours of cleaning and trying to keep himself distracted. He'd give a lot to just end this conversation and go to sleep.

But he _asked_ for this conversation. If he put it off any longer, he'd probably lose what little resolve he had left. This was truly it. After this, he wouldn't be able to seek refuge in Talon. He'd be a rogue.

"Useless apologies aside, you said that you wanted to help. Forgive me for my skepticism, but you're a lying weasel."

"That's fair."

"Give me a reason to trust you."

"I…" Dante started. He had planned for this. He had a very long explanation that he had made while cleaning the floor. But his mind was drawing a _complete_ blank.

"Damn, and you claim you're a chameleon."

" _Was_ a chameleon," Dante corrected. Cobalt cocked his head to the side. "I don't want that title. I did some… I ' _royally fucked up'_ when I was working as one, so the more distance I can put between me and that program, the better, in my eyes. And… I know that there's no solid proof I can give, other than what I say." He paused. Faintly, in the back of his head, something reminded Dante that the dragon sitting across from him, staring at him with suspicion and curiosity, was the same person who he had hated for the past four months. It was strange that it barely mattered anymore, when a month ago it was all that he could think of.

Dante shook himself. "But I hope that you can trust me when I say that Ember is more important to me than anyone. She was by my side for sixteen years, and not _once_ did she give up on me. It's… I was supposed to be my job to keep her safe. And I've failed."

"Spectacularly so."

"You're not making this any easier," Dante muttered.

"Hey, you never made my life easier."

"Well, I'm trying _now!_ " Dante said. It sounded more whiny than anything else. "Look. The Elder Wyrm lied to me, used me to try to kill my sister, and let me do atrocious things while telling me that I was doing _good_ and that she cared. I messed up." Dante swallowed. "And now I have the information to make things right. Or at least _try_ to make things right. Not to mention that I… I want to hurt them back. After everything they put Ember through, and everything they told me to do."

"Revenge."

"Good a motivator as any," Dante shrugged. "And it's not just revenge. It's… doing something right for once in my life. I've sold my soul to Talon, and I'd like to get it back." He rubbed at his chest, where the thick scar at his sternum could still be felt under the flannel that he wore. "If the information is bad, and people get hurt or killed for no gain, then you can take it out on me."

Cobalt's eyes widened fractionally, just enough to show that he didn't expect Dante to offer himself up as collateral. He leaned back and let out a breath, hands resting on the table.

"You've changed, Infierno."

"Well, you were right. I can't live with the guilt," Dante looked down. "And I want my freedom, someday. I have to earn it back, don't I?"

Cobalt quirked his eyebrows, an exhausted smirked making its way onto his face. "I suppose you do. I _will_ hold you to your words, though. If you send us on a goose chase that gets people killed, then Ember's brother or not, I'm going to bury you alive."

Dante swallowed and nodded. "I have no reason to fear if I'm telling the truth."

"Exactly."

"Great," Dante whispered. Riley stood and offered a hand up, which Dante hesitantly took. _God,_ he didn't want to be upright. He had to grit his teeth and brace his free hand on the table just to stand. "Where are we going?"

"Meeting with St. George, so you can tell us—"

"Meeting with _St. George?_ " Dante hissed.

"Yep. As much as I dislike working with them, they need the information, too, and I feel that you'd rather not go through this more than once," Cobalt said, grimace on his face. Dante clenched his hand tightly around Cobalt's. "Don't worry. We have a truce."

"In theory."

"Well, it's worked so far. Come on. Outside."

Dante stumbled slightly as he forced his legs to move into the mainroom. He could hear the dull chatter from everyone there, dragons packed into the room past capacity. His eyes immediately found Kain, who was talking to Astatine and another dragonelle that he didn't recognize. Kain smiled and nodded at him and Cobalt before turning back to his conversation. Cobalt led the both of them outside.

Ember, Jade, Garret, and Wes were all on the porch, along with four people he didn't recognize. Two were older men, standing stiffly a good distance away from each other. The other two were younger. One was sitting on the porch railing, talking softly to Garret. The other was standing as far away from everyone as possible, glaring holes through Ember's head. Dante felt the back of his neck prickle at the sight of them, heat stirring in his throat. Soldiers. There were soldiers of St. George standing right in front of him.

He caught Ember's eyes, and she gave him what was meant to be a reassuring smile. Dante took a breath. They were in a truce. This was just like any other meeting.

"No problems?" she asked.

"Either your brother is a better liar than I am, or he's telling the truth," Riley said. He looked over at the unfamiliar men. "Are the soldiers settled in alright?"

"Well enough," One of the older men said. His dark eyes fell on Dante, who tried to straighten up to his normal height. The crick in his back kept him partially hunched over, but at least he hadn't fallen. Yet. He really shouldn't have overworked himself earlier in the day.

"Dante, This is Lieutenant Martin, Lieutenant Ward, Peter Matthews, and Tristan," Ember broke the silence. "Lieutenants Martin and Ward are the standing leaders of St. George."

"Great," Dante nodded, mind going back to his training. He put on a neutral expression and focused on the two Lieutenants, banishing the pain in his spine and legs to the back of his mind. "My name is Dante Hill. I… I worked under Talon for a time, and have seen some of the more recent workings. I'd like to help you by providing whatever information I can."

"You worked under Talon?" Peter Matthews said, eyes narrowing. Dante turned to face him, keeping his face carefully neutral. "And he's allowed _here?_ He could be here to give evidence back to the lizards, or to kill us."

"I can't access Talon from here, nor do I want to," Dante responded. "As for killing anyone, I'm completely harmless." He gave a small smile at that, but Peter Matthews scoffed.

"You're a _dragon_."

"He's... seriously harmless," Cobalt said. "I shot him multiple times before bringing him here, one clipped him in the spine, and he's still in recovery." Dante blinked, a bit too shocked over Cobalt's flippancy to react. Cobalt gave him a slightly apologetic glance. "They were going to figure it out eventually, might as well clear the air."

"Fair enough," Dante played off the statement with a nonchalant shrug. "Point is, that I got in too deep, reached a point that should have been a point of no return, and have since seen Talon for what it is. Now I have information that can aid your cause. Whatever you think of me, my morals, or my previous decisions is irrelevant."

"Irrelevant?" Lieutenant Ward repeated, a challenging glint in his eyes that reminded him all too well of how his teachers would look at him when he was younger. Dante clenched his jaw, irritation rising up inside of him.

" _Yes._ It's _irrelevant._ Debating on my or anyone's moral standing is a waste of time, and therefore can be taken into account at a later date. Sir." He took a breath, leaning up against the wall in a way that he hoped could look casual and not as if he could barely stay on his feet. "Because Talon _isn't_ going to waste time." He paused. All eyes were on him. Some encouraging, some stony, some openly hostile. No going back, now. "I worked on the vessel project— clone project. Whichever you call it. I know where the facility is, basic security, and the people in charge of their development. _And_ I know the direction that the project is heading." The two older men stayed stone-faced, and Peter Matthew's only change was his face crinkling in disgust, but he could see shock across everyone else's faces. "They're designing the vessels to start older. Their bodies will be past the five hundred mark within two years, the way they're heading. We have… several dozen of them in the making. There were a few prototypes used during the… the night where Talon tried to wipe out St. George and the rogue networks, but we have several dozen more in the making."

He was met with stunned silence.

"Five hundred?" One of the soldiers, Tristan, repeated softly. "With that power…"

"Talon could wipe any opposition off the map with that," Riley finished. He looked faintly ill. "How soon will they be ready?"

Dante bit his lip. Dr. Olsen had discussed it when he was in the room, but that had been a _long_ day, and he only remembered bits and pieces.

"A month? Maybe two? But that's being optimistic."

Ward narrowed his eyes at Dante, jaw clenched and shoulders stiff. Dante looked away.

"That's the most pressing matter at hand. I… I know the basic security, and if you still have my ID card, it might still be in Talon's servers, so that would get you just about anywhere."

"Why should we trust a word that you say, dragon?" Ward asked.

Dante knew the virtues of patience and understanding, but he was tired and in pain, so his well was running dry. "Well, it's either trust me, or face the dragon apocalypse. I'm giving you an opportunity to sabotage one of the Elder Wyrm's most ambitious plans. Take it or leave it, but I have no doubts on where I stand."

He sounded much more confident than he felt. Ward was drilling holes through his body. Everyone else was quiet.

"We need to get together a plan of action," Riley finally said, cutting the tension. He looked sick. "It's not something we can afford to do nothing about. And, even though our information source isn't the most trustworthy, it's better than waiting around to die. We can probably ask Mist to scrounge up a map with security measures, send in a small team to sabotage it."

That seemed to snap everyone out of their stupor, and Dante breathed a shaking sigh of relief. He moved to sink into the empty chair. _God,_ everything hurt. It wasn't even just his back anymore, or in his legs. It was digging into his shoulders and ribs and head. He could see Wes' eyes rake over him, a slight furrow in his brow being the only thing that showed his concern. He tried to keep up with the conversation, but it was becoming its own battle just to stay awake and apright. They were talking about a team that they could send in, if they would need a diversion, how they would dismantle the program. He couldn't pay much attention to the specifics.

"I can go in."

Dante's head shot up. That could _not_ be Ember speaking. She couldn't be that stupid.

Of course she was.

"I have the best chance of staying alive—"

"No way."

All eyes turned on him. Dante clenched his fists, expression setting into a hard line. "If what Jade told me is true, which I'm assuming that it is, then you should be as far from the Elder Wyrm as possible."

"Dante, this isn't about safety. This is about who can do the job."

"Your capture could mean another thousand years of the Elder Wyrm's control over dragons. At this rate, we can literally _wait_ for her to die, if worst comes to worst," Dante said.

Cobalt snorted. "Your words are touching. But…" he grimaced and pulled at a few strands of his hair. "I loathe to agree with him, but Infierno's right. You're too important for this. We have no idea who's going to be there. For all we know, he's lying, or the grand bitch herself will be there."

"Well, who else would be able to get in without dying on the spot? _Everyone_ here has a death warrant on their head."

Dante felt himself grow cold. Who _could_ get in there? A basilisk would be the best for the job, obviously— that meant either Mist or Cobalt. A soldier, too, if the Order had anything to say about it. But they would die the moment they were seen, and that place was crawling with scientists and security guards. The only two people who wouldn't be shot on sight would be Ember… and _him._

He had _just_ promised himself that he wouldn't go back to Talon.

"I don't," Dante whispered. Ember's eyes widened incredulously. "I still have my ID card. Everyone there knows me as a face they can trust. And I…" he couldn't believe he was doing this. He was _injured._ He was _disabled._ This was an awful idea. "I'm expendable, aren't I? No loss if I—"

" _Dante!_ " Ember shrieked.

"Tactically speaking!" Dante backed up. He was digging himself into a hole, and he knew it. "Tactically speaking, I'm the most expendable person in this conversation!"

"No way!"

"He has a point." That was from Garret. For one shining moment, Dante thought that Ember was going to strangle the both of them. "He has the easiest access in, and him being there won't do much more than raising some eyebrows. And if he _does_ betray us, he still knows next to nothing about where we are." He grimaced at Ember. "Sorry, but… it _does_ make sense."

"He has _no_ training! And a _bullet_ in his spine!" Ember gave a desperate look at Riley. " _Please_ say you agree with me."

"Well, I trust your brother about as far as I can throw him, but he and St. George have brought up some decent points." Cobalt narrowed his eyes at Dante, who froze under his gaze in spite of himself. Then Cobalt shook himself. "It's late. We've been discussing this bomb for two hours. I say that we all sleep on it, hash out the details when Mist can get her hands on a map."

Dante breathed a sigh of sheer relief and struggled to his feet, nearly stumbling before Ember darted forward to catch him.

 _God, what did I get myself into?_

* * *

 **Poor Ember is going to have a heart attack. (But I got to 7,000 words without injuring anyone!)**

 **Please, please, _please_ drop me a review, I haven't gotten a single review for this story, yet, and it makes me sad. I promise you that I'll work harder on this fanfiction if people show interest.**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: I know that I'm late. However, I am not incredibly late, so I think that it's okay. Besides, I still haven't gotten a review, yet, so it's getting hard to stay enthusiastic. (Yes, I'm using guilt tripping. I am never above guilt tripping)**

 **Anyway, please enjoy this next chapter.**

* * *

He couldn't move. He _couldn't_ move.

Wes and Cobalt had moved all of the boys into one room the previous night for space reasons— there were only five of them, compared to the couple dozen dragonelles, so he supposed that it made sense. He would've been fine sleeping on the floor, honestly, but Wes but demanded that he keep his cot. Something about not further screwing with his spine. But apparently it was all for naught— even the cot couldn't stop his back from cramping up and rendering him unable to do much more than move his arms and twitch his feet. He wasn't even sure if he could get onto his elbows.

"Do you want me to get you breakfast?" Kain asked on his way into the hallway. "I'm pretty sure that the state of our underground has devolved into cereal, but I can get you a—"

"If you say hot pocket I swear to god, Kain."

"—hot pocket."

" _Oh_ my god!"

Kain laughed, his functional eye shining. It had been looking clearer, as of late, returning from a clouded brown to hazel-grey. His scars were fading, as well. Or maybe Dante was just getting used to seeing them.

"How about some bacon and toast, then? I'll make a party of it," Kain said. "I swear, no one knows how to cook in this underground."

"And you make fun of _me_ for my nervous habits," Dante rolled his eyes and tried to move into a slightly less painful position. Electric sparks travelled up his spine and all the way to his legs, making his muscles twist and cramp. _Damn._ "Please get me food."

"Sure thing. Hey, if your sister decides to stop by…" Kain hesitated, eye narrowing with something akin to frustration. "Tell her that... I'm sorry for trying to fistfight her boyfriend. But I'm not about to apologize to his face." And he was gone, just like that. Everyone else was already out, leaving Dante alone in the room to speculate over how dirt smudges got onto the ceiling and think over the previous night.

He didn't regret telling people about the lab. Even when he was part of Talon, it had creeped him out. Now that he was out, he knew that it needed to be destroyed. But it was still an action that marked him rogue, and as little as he wanted to admit it, that _scared_ him. And then he volunteered for a mission to bring the place down when he couldn't even stand for an entire day without being immobile for the next who-knew-how-long _._ It was better than sending Ember, but it still wasn't a good option. Not to mention Cobalt could see it as an attempt to get back to Talon, which would discredit him.

Everything was so much more _simple_ when it was just him and the underground.

"Tweedledum?"

The door creaked open, and Ember's head poked in to do a quick sweep. Dante took a breath and managed to struggle to his elbows, pointedly ignoring the grating in his spine and the way his arms shook from the strain.

"Hey, Ember," he said, managing a smile. Ember sat down beside him and put an arm under his back to give some meager support. "What time is it?"

"Ten-thirty. I woke up before you, for once," she said. Dante groaned and tried to twist off of his cot and onto the floor. Ember stopped him before he could get far. " _Don't._ You're still… you're straining yourself." She gave a small huff. "I would have come in earlier, but you were asleep, and Sage threw, like, eighteen socks at me because he was changing."

"Huh," Dante nodded. He tried to struggle out of his cot again, but Ember didn't even need to restrain him. He could barely get onto his side, and fell onto as back the moment he tried to relax. She gave him a pat on the shoulder for his effort.

"So, how have things been since you left?" Dante asked. "You seem to be pretty updated on my life, but I have _no_ idea what happened with you, other than raiding the Breeding Facility and joining up with _St. George._ "

"Well, that's pretty much all we did," Ember shrugged. There was a brief silence, where Ember looked around their room. There was just two beds, shared by four people, his cot, and a few cloth bags where everyone had their possessions. When there weren't five people in the room, it looked almost tidy.

"We've been discussing the mission, while you've been out," Ember said. Dante's head jerked up to meet her eyes, and Ember raised her hands. "You can't _move,_ Dante. You needed some recovery time, so I didn't try to wake you up for strategy discussion."

"I was just _cleaning_ yesterday. I shouldn't still be this… this _immobile._ "

"Yeah, which is why you shouldn't go on the mission," Ember snapped. Dante froze, and she let out a long breath, running a hand through her hair. "We've been talking it over, trying to find a way in. Mist managed to confirm that there's a facility, and she _somehow_ got a blueprint, but a distraction is too risky, because you're not exactly the most _trustworthy_ informant. No offense. There's a back entrance, but—"

"It's an emergency exit," Dante interrupted. He grabbed Ember's arm and dragged himself upright, stars bursting in his vision as the edges went greyscale. Ow. _Ow._ Dammit, it wasn't supposed to _hurt_ so much. "Security is tight there, rigged with silent alarms through the entire corridor. Good exit plan, but guards would shoot you the moment you open the door into the main facility."

"Mist and Riley guessed as much," Ember growled. "There are vents, but the only ones that we can fit through open in bad places. And, of course, we don't know exactly where the labs _are,_ we just know the vague area, so it's _smartest_ to send _you_ in." Her voice cracked. "And fucking _Ward_ talks about expendability, as if you're _nothing_ just because you've been rogue for less time. You haven't even been on a mission before, and people are talking about sending you off to—"

"Ember," Dante interrupted, closing his eyes. He rubbed at his shoulder, where the bullet wound was still raised against his skin. A trophy for all of this mistakes. "I might not look up to anything right now, but I _can_ do this much. I can get people in, and we can do whatever is necessary to… to…" he swallowed. He had worked so hard on this project. Was he really going to burn it down, just like that?

 _Most definitely._

"To destroy these vessels," he finished. "And I _want_ to do this, too. I need to prove myself. Begin to wipe the slate clean."

"Dante—"

"I killed… _so many_ people, Ember," he continued, hands clenched into fists. "You have no idea. And I didn't even let them see my face, I just… I just sent vessels after them. An entire trailer town, just to prove myself. I need to make up for that. If we fail, and I die…" Dante paused. _Maybe it's what I deserve._ "...Then at least it will be me, and not someone like you."

Ember closed her eyes tightly and ran a hand over her face. " _God,_ you sounded like Garret for a moment, there. When did you get so noble?"

"When Cobalt shot me." Dante offered a smile. "I don't intend to die, though. I know this facility, and the people there trust me. They probably should know better, but…"

Ember laughed weakly at that, but her face fell quickly. She bit her lip and faintly shook her head.

"You know that this is practically a suicide mission, right?" she said. "You'll be going into an armed facility, planting a shit ton of bombs, and hoping that you can get out before the whole thing explodes. And there isn't any extraction or backup team." She gave a nearly desperate laugh. "Hell, Martin said, to quote, ' _we can't send in anyone that we can't afford to lose.'._ Granted, he said that when Garret volunteered himself, but that's still a dead giveaway over how this mission is going to go. Not to mention cold as _hell_ to say right after we decided that Mist is going. And Martin's the _nice_ one."

Dante winced. "There's a nice Lieutenant in St. George?"

"Compared to Ward, Martin is a dragon-rights activist," Ember said. She looked over him, brow crinkling with worry. "Nothing's set in stone, yet. We need to talk with you formally, we need to figure out who all we're sending in other than Mist, and when this is taking place… but I think that they're going to have you go. ' _It's the most tactically sound choice_ ', or whatever bullshit. If I hear the word 'expendable' come from anyone's lips one more time, I'm kicking their teeth in." She groaned. "I just got you _back,_ Dante. And now..."

Dante pursed his lips and slowly made it back onto his elbows. Could he really go back to that facility and trust himself to stay true to the underground? He was fine now, when he was in the farmhouse, beside Ember, surrounded by rogues, but Talon had been _everything_ to him _._ Even knowing what he did, and hating Talon for all it was worth, he was afraid to close the door on an easy way back into the organization.

The door creaked open. Dante's head shot up to meet Kain, who had frozen in the doorway.

"Ember," he greeted stonily.

"Kain," Ember replied. She nodded to the plate that he was carrying. "That for my brother?"

"Yes." Kain said. He crossed to Dante's side and handed him the plate, carefully keeping Ember from his blind spot. He looked on the verge of saying something, then decided against it, instead ruffling his hair before he left. Or, tried to leave.

"Kain!" Ember stood. Kain whirled around like had had been pulled by a rope. Dante winced. He knew that Kain wasn't very fond of Ember, with the attempted fistfight and all that, but they couldn't avoid each other forever.

"Yeah?" he asked, trepidation clear in his voice.

"Thank you for looking after my brother. He needed a friend, and you seem to have stepped up to the task."

"I didn't do it for you," Kain snapped. Dante winced. "Shit. I… didn't mean it like that. I just… I wanted to help him figure things out. For _everyone's_ sakes. I swear, the weeks when he was still a Talon supporter were terrifying, but he was too small and pathetic to hate."

"Hey!"

"Dante, I had to practically carry you when you first started walking. You were small and pathetic," Kain said. "But… while we're apparently _trying_ to be on good terms… I'm…" Dante pursed his lips and looked away, trying to hide the smile on his lips. He was starting to understand why Kain had asked Dante to apologize for him. "I'm…"

"Take your time, Kain," Dante choked out. Kain growled.

"I'm _sorry._ For trying to fight your… friend. There. Take the dish down when you're done, or get Ember to do it for you." Kain turned around and rushed out the door, leaving the both of them alone, staring into the hallway.

"He's a good friend, I promise," Dante said. Ember raised an eyebrow. "He _is._ "

"If you say so," she replied airily, ruffling his hair. Dante groaned and ran his fingers through it in a vague attempt to flatten it back out. If he was going to have to play the part of a perfect Chameleon to get into Talon, he was going to need a haircut. And his suit back.

"Dante—"

"This is actually going to happen, isn't it?" Dante interrupted. "I never thought I'd have to do anything like this. And… going back into Talon, after everything that's happened. It's only been a month, but still." Dante rubbed his shoulder again. Of course, the mission wasn't set in stone, and there was no way he'd be up for walking for than a few steps for the next twenty-four hours or more, but it sounded like he was going to have to be there. He was going to openly betray the organization that raised him.

 _No. It's the organization that tried to kill my sister, and the organization that trained me to kill without a second thought. This is my chance to make up for that._

"Why did you have to volunteer yourself?" Ember whispered. "I could've gone, Dante."

"No," Dante shook his head. "The Elder Wyrm would… she would _kill_ you, and use your body like it belonged to her, and… I can't let that happen. I'm the one who's supposed to protect you. If I get caught, at least my death will be a clean one." He swallowed. "And I'm _not_ going to get caught. I may have no skill with infiltration, but I'm a chronic liar with an ID card. Foolproof plan, right?"

Ember groaned and wrapped him in a tight hug. Dante stiffened, mouth twisting into a silent snarl from the pain that richoched up his back. His shoulders were stiff and cramped as he moved them to return the embrace.

He had missed this.

"Just take care of yourself, tweedledum," Ember whispered.

Dante closed his eyes.

"Always will."

* * *

 **A/N: Yes, Dante still has to suffer the consequences of his actions. His back was all but broken (sorry, Dante), and therefore he can't be up all day without needing recovery time.**

 **But I'm now at ~9,000 words without injuring anyone! Go me! I can TOTALLY write... uh... happy. Yeah. I can do that.**

 **Anyway, please review, even if it's just smashing the keyboard. Please.**


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5  
Ember

Three days later, and they were _still_ planning on sending her brother on a suicide mission.

Ember had done everything she could to find a different solution. She had volunteered to go in his stead. She had poured over the security map until she could redraw it in her sleep. She had spoken over alternative plans to Riley, Wes, Garret, Mist, and even _Martin._ She had reminded them all multiple times that Dante was still heavily injured and would be useless in a fight. But they all still kept saying that having him go in was the smartest solution, including Dante himself.

He wasn't helping the situation in the slightest. He had needed a day of recovery, but afterwards he had made it to every meeting that called for him. He didn't know the security perfectly, but he had rough estimates, and he knew the names of the people in charge of the project. Even though he wasn't fit for _anything_ physically, he made himself the obvious choice, and he had adopted a hatred for Talon that carried strongly in his voice.

What was even worse was that they were _right_ to send him in. Dante had clearance into the lab. He was known as an ally to the scientists. And _if_ he was really setting them all up for betrayal, he couldn't give Talon anything other than what the organization already knew. Ember _hated_ that she could see reason in sending her only brother into a deathtrap.

They were going to send him out at dawn the next day, and there was no way that she could stop it. Mist would be going with him, which Ember was grateful for. A soldier would be, too, even though she didn't know _who._ Garret had offered, but Martin and Riley both shot that down— he was crucial. Not just as a soldier, but as a liaison between the Order and the underground. After thirty minutes of talking about who would be best suited for the job, Riley adjourned the meeting, saying that the Order could figure it out by themselves. She was wholeheartedly grateful for that decision. It meant that she could spend a bit more time with her brother.

"I could go with you," Ember whispered, looking out at the darkening sky. They were sitting on the roof, where Dante wasn't technically allowed to go, but apparently went often enough that no one in his room batted an eye when he opened the window and slipped out.

"I feel like it would be hard to stay under the radar if you showed up in a Talon facility, Tweedledee," Dante replied, humorless smile quirking at his lips. "But thanks for the offer." He gave a long sigh, laying down on the slope of the roof. His eyebrows were knitted as he stared up at the sky. "You know, I was hoping for rain, today. Even if I can't fly, it would be nice to feel it, again."

"You'd come back with a cold," Ember snorted. "And then I'd _finally_ be able to convince people to take you off the mission. You can't go into a Talon lab with a cold. It would raise too many red flags. Guess that we just have to come up with a different plan. Such a shame."

"Ember, I once went into this laboratory with _strep throat_. I had a 105 degree fever, threw up my antibiotics, and could barely talk. I infected at least four people in two days. Probably more. A director had to order me home and tell my bodyguards to make sure that I didn't try to come back in. Coming in with a cold with raise absolutely _no_ red flags."

Ember winced. That sounded exactly like the kind of thing that Dante would do. Along with going on a suicide mission while still recovering from a bullet wound.

Dante's eyes were still fixed on the darkening sky, deceivingly peaceful. He pointed up at a white speck above his head. "What's that?"

Ember looked up with him. It had been… _months_ since she had payed attention to the skies. She had learned how to track the stars and the planets when she was younger— astronomy was the only academic subject that she was actually interested in— but it had fallen to the back of her mind ever since… Crescent Beach, if she thought about it. Dante had never felt the pull to sky like she did, and he didn't hold any love for outer space, but he would sometimes ask about it, just so Ember could talk.

It was a better topic than the mission, at least. The mission that Dante could very well die in. If these were the last hours that she was going to spend with him, she didn't want to spend it agonizing.

"It's Venus," she responded. "You can tell because of how bright it is compared to the stars. Its atmosphere is so dense that it reflects most of the sunlight that hits it back into space, so it's the second-brightest object in the night sky, after the moon. It actually reflects so much light that, if you were on the _surface_ of Venus, it would look like a constant twilight, even though it's closer to the— excuse me, brother dearest, am I boring you?"

"Hm?" Dante blinked his eyes open. "No, no. Your astronomy lesson is riveting, please continue."

"You're a smartass," Ember scoffed.

"No, I'm serious!" Dante propped himself up on his elbows. "I've missed being able to talk to you about things that don't matter."

"You saying that astronomy doesn't matter?" Ember grinned, nudging his shoulder. "Square up, bastard. I have to defend the only academic subject that I'm any good at."

Dante groaned and fell back onto the roof, running a hand through his hair. He didn't use to do that, before he was shot. But his hair was longer, now, falling over his ears and his forehead. He wore a short-sleeved plaid shirt rather than the fitted suit that he had nearly died in. He looked… lighter, she supposed, than she had seen him when he was in Talon. A whole lot more sick— a month wasn't nearly enough time to fix the way his breaths came out raspy or the stiffness in his movements— but lighter nonetheless.

"Wes says that he repaired my suit," Dante said, voice a bit more strained than normal. "The one I was shot in. I know… I know that I have to look the part to get in, but… I don't want to associate with that part of my life." He swallowed. "I _am_ scared, Ember. I don't want show it, but I am."

Ember sighed. It would always come back to this.

"I don't want to die, but it's more than that. It's… _me._ I've been a perfect follower my entire life, and I'm afraid that it will be too easy to fall back into that. I don't want to… I don't want to be near the organization," he snorted softly. "Even if I'm just going there to blow it up. Which is also… not making me feel too good."

Ember bit the inside of her cheek. She remembered the first time she had killed someone— it was a soldier of St. George, a sniper, aiming at Garret through an attic door. She never told Garret, but she had seen the raw panic in his eyes when he looked at the corpse. She had felt it echoed in her soul. The people that Dante would bury inside the lab _weren't_ his first kills, and both of them knew it, but that didn't mean they would hurt any less.

"Can… can you promise something?" Dante asked softly.

Ember looked out at the fields, watching two people patrol along the dirt road. She couldn't tell if they were soldiers or hatchlings, from this distance. "Depends on what it is."

"Promise me that I'm not just selling my soul to an uncaring organization all over again," Dante said. When Ember looked over at him, his eyes were staring fixedly up at the sky. "I can't tell for myself, these days."

Ember swallowed, looking down at her hands. The blood, the carnage,the murder, it seemed that it couldn't be escaped, no matter which side of the war you were on. She and Riley and Garret had all killed people without hesitation. Mercilessly.

 _Just like Lilith trained me._

There wasn't any good answer.

"Riley grieved for Faith," she replied. Dante shut his eyes tightly, shoulders tensing as if the name brought him physical pain. "Garret grieved for the soldiers we've killed. And I've grieved for everyone in between." she swallowed. "It doesn't change that they're dead. But this underground isn't heartless, Dante. Murder isn't something we take lightly. We never will." She bit the inside of her cheek. "You can still back out, if you want."

"If you keep saying that, then I might," Dante said. Ember could hear the plea beneath it.

Her brother was going on a suicide mission, and there was nothing that she could do to stop it.

The window behind them creaked open, and Ember craned her neck to look at the newcomer. Probably another hatchling; Dante said that this was a fairly common location to—

It was _not_ a hatchling.

"Garret told me that you disappeared up to the roof," Tristan said, navigating his body through the window. Dante sat up, expression melting to a neutral mask, while Ember scooted closer to her brother to make some more room for Tristan, who looked at Dante. "How are you holding up?"

Dante opened his mouth, but the question must have thrown him off guard, because nothing came out for a few seconds.

"Fine," he said. "I'm fine."

Tristan raised an eyebrow. "If you say so."

Ember brushed a strand of hair out of her face and sat up a bit straighter. "What brings you to to venture through the farmhouse full of dragons and onto the roof?"

Tristan smirked at that, but it dropped pretty quickly. "After a bit more conversation, the Order knows who they're going to send on the mission." Ember stiffened, and Tristan swallowed hard. "Me."

Ember blinked. "You?"

"Yep," Tristan breathed and shook his head, as if he couldn't believe what had just come out of his mouth. "Peter Matthews was really pushing to be sent in, because he wants to make sure Dante and Mist will stay in line, and… well. I'd like this mission to end with everyone still alive, and this alliance would be best if it didn't end in bloodshed, so I volunteered to go instead. So…" Tristan's eyes slid to Dante, and he offered a smile. "I guess that I'm in charge of making sure you don't die, huh?"

Ember let out a shaky breath, feeling the cold tangle of stress in her chest relax a bit. Tristan was the best option that she could hope for, other than Garret. Really, he was the only soldier that she could trust not to go off the rails and kill her brother. This… this was the biggest relief that she had felt in months.

And she could ask Tristan to do something that she could _never_ ask any other soldier.

"Hey, could I talk to you in private really quick?" Ember asked. Tristan furrowed his brow slightly, but shrugged and nodded. Dante gave her a somewhat annoyed look. "Sorry, Dante. Don't burn the roof down while I'm gone."

"No need to worry, sis. Can't shift," Dante muttered as Ember navigated her way into the attic, stiflingly warm and covered in a thin layer of dust. Tristan followed cautiously and shut the window.

"What's so important that you can't tell your twin?" he asked, sitting down cross-legged on the floor. Ember joined him.

"Thank you," she said softly. Tristan furrowed his eyebrows fractionally, just enough for her to notice. "I don't think I would have been able to stomach sending him away with Peter Matthews."

Tristan snorted. "I just want the mission to go smoothly. And… he's your _brother_. I can't let him go off with the likes of..." He wrinkled his nose, realizing what he had just said. "Oh jeezus, I've gotten attached to you. I promised myself that this wouldn't happen."

Ember felt her lips twitch, but the mood felt too heavy to feel any real amusement at his words.

"Tristan…" she started, resisting the urge to fidget. Tristan cocked his head to the side. "Dante's my only brother. I need him to come back from this. And I know that Mist is good at what she does, and infiltration is one of her jobs, but if it comes down to the mission or Dante, I know that she's going to prioritize the mission over everything. Can you make sure to bring him back safely? Or… I'm not even asking for him to be in one piece, I just… I want him to come back from this alive. After everything… I've _just_ gotten him back. I can't lose him again."

Tristan winced, lips pressing together in a slight grimace as he looked down at the floor. His fingers traced out the grain of the wood.

"You're not just asking me to bring him back, Ember," he finally said, eyes meeting hers unflinchingly. Ember bit her lip, and Tristan leaned forward slightly. "You're asking that, if it comes down to me or him, I'll save his life. Right? And that's why you don't want to have this conversation in front of him."

Ember swallowed. She couldn't meet his eyes. She couldn't ask this of _anyone,_ let alone someone who she had only really known for a month. She didn't have the right.

"He's my brother. I need him to come home."

Tristan nodded and sighed, closing his eyes. "I know," he said softly, shoulders slumping as the furrow in his brow smoothed out. " _If_ I have to decide whether he or I makes it out in this mission… then I'll bite the bullet. Or at least try to buy him some time," Ember's mouth fell open. Tristan offered a helpless shrug. "What can I say? He's your brother. You'll be waiting for him to get home. I… I don't have anyone like that."

"You have Garret," Ember whispered. In the back of her mind, she was afraid that the reminder would make Tristan take back his words. But they needed to be out there. They deserved to be out there.

"Yeah…" Tristan gave a sad smile. "But I have other people waiting for me, too. My brothers in arms, my partner, my blood family… whoever the hell _they_ are. And Garret has _you,_ now. If I die…" he paused. "I may have a hard time accepting and trusting dragons, but I think that I can trust you to look after him. Get him through the worst of the grieving process. Stop him from developing depression. All that."

Ember nodded, a chill coming over her by the acceptance in Tristan's voice. He was truly ready to die. For a dragon, too. Just a few months ago, she would have never thought that he would be able to see dragons as people, let alone talk about taking a bullet for one. Martin's words came back to her, talking about how they couldn't send in Garret because Garret was too valuable. And yet, his partner was cleared go into a suicide mission.

"Tristan."

"Hm?"

"Try… try not to die, okay? You're... important. More important than people give you credit for," Ember said.

"Good to see that the emotional attachment is going both ways."

"And I think that Garret would have a breakdown if you died."

Tristan snorted. "Yeah, but that would be _your_ problem, not mine." He paused for a moment, eyes staring off into nothing. Then he shook himself, as if trying to pull himself out of a stupor.

"This was uncomfortably heartfelt," he said, "and I don't like it. So, with your permission, I'm going to go back onto that roof and try to show your brother how to use a gun, and we will never mention this conversation again." His brow creased, and for a second he looked angry. "And if I _do_ die, don't you _dare_ feel guilty about it. Understood? _My_ choice."

"Understood. No guilt here," Ember said, even though she knew it was a lie. Tristan gave a decisive nod and went back to the window, awkwardly stooped and hair brushing the ceiling. "Tristan?"

"What?"

"Thank you."

Tristan mustered a grin. "Don't mention it."

He opened the window and climbed back out onto the roof. Ember could hear him and Dante talking softly, and she slowly rose to join them. She _did_ trust that Tristan would keep his word. He was ready to die in the hopes that her brother could live.

But it was still a suicide mission.

Chances were, neither of them would be coming back.

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 **A/N: I HAVE NOW BROKEN 10,000 WORDS WITHOUT INJURING ANYONE. I think that's actually a record for me, concerning fanfictions.**

 **Please, please, please drop something in the review box. You can review things if you're a guest. Please. I am begging you, here.**


	6. Chapter 6

**REVIEW RESPONSES**

 **Neyrriz (Chapter 5): Wow, this is a huge compliment, thank you so much for reviewing! I'm glad that you like my take on the characters, and that you like the OCs; I've never been a big fan of OCs in stories except for very specific circumstances, but there just aren't enough named characters in the underground. It means a lot to hear that I'm handling them well. I am aware of the character inconsistencies with Tristan and Kain, but I did have to do some minor tweaking to fit the plot. I've purposefully kept Kain away from any and all soldiers of St. George so I wouldn't have to deal with his reaction to humans, and I also made sure that the only dragons that Tristan interacts with are Riley, Ember, and Dante; two of which he knows well enough to trust, and the other one he knows of via Ember, who he's somewhat indebted to. When it comes to your concerns about Tristan... I promised not to kill Dante; everyone else is still on the table. No spoilers. Thank you, again, for reviewing, it means a lot to me!**

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 **Okay, Dante's Moral Crisis 2.6, let's go!**

Dante woke up before the sun had begun to rise, with nothing but the faint light of the digital clock to tell him that it was 5:20. He could hear the heavy breaths of his still sleeping roommates. He closed his eyes briefly, but his body was already starting to tingle with nerves. He wasn't going to get back to sleep. And report time was at 7:00 either way, so it was only one and a half hours that he had to kill.

Slowly, he got to his feet, testing his back against the strain of movement. It was still stiff, and it ached dully, but it always did in the mornings. It was as good as he could make it, and it probably wouldn't cause anything more than a limp throughout the day. He'd be useless in a fight, though, even with the human soldier's lesson on how to use a gun.

 _His name is Tristan St. Anthony. I need to use it,_ he reminded himself. He could still remember the way that Cobalt had reacted when he called Wes ' _Cobalt's human',_ and he didn't want to repeat the mistake to a soldier of St. George.

Dante padded out into the hallway and down the stairs, leaning heavily on the banister. No one was awake in the living room, packed with sleeping dragonelles. He tried to stay as quiet as possible— they deserved the rest, after everything that they had been through. Dante couldn't help the guilt that rose up in his throat. The Elder Wyrm told them that they were at the facilities so they'd be _safe_. He had believed her.

Dante closed his eyes and let out a long breath to try and ground himself. This was why he had volunteered for the mission. He could make up for what he had done. Or, start to, at least. Guilt wasn't going to get him anywhere, and emotions would endanger his, Mist's, and St. Anthony's life. He could go back to feeling things after it was over and they were all back at the farmhouse.

There was a murmur from the hallway, making Dante pause and turn toward the noise. One of the doors had light shining under it, and he could hear conversation— Wes and Cobalt, by the sounds of it. Dante crept closer to the door.

"— doesn't account for the Vessels that they've already woken up," Wes' voice drifted through the door. "And this is assuming that the mission doesn't fail spectacularly. Which, by the way, it probably _will._ "

"Wes, as skeptical as I am about Dante's history, I don't think he's going to try and sabotage us," Cobalt said. "Now that he knows about the Elder Wyrm's great plan to kill Ember, he has every motivation to want the organization powerless. He may be a weasel, but he's a weasel that loves his sister."

"Oh no, I'm not worried about that. In case you forgot, _I'm_ the one who had to get him through his fever, so _I've_ seen him at his lowest. _Not_ you," Wes said. Dante winced. Those had been a bad few nights. "I'm a bit more worried about the bullet that I failed to take out of his spine, and the fact that he's going to be in a high stress, possibly violent situation, where it will be his first instinct to shift. And— _shite._ "

"What?"

"Burned myself with the iron again."

"That's because your hands are shaking." That was from Garret, spoken dryly. Why was he up, and in Cobalt's room? Did all three of them share a room? "Would you like me to—"

" _No._ If I have to look over those bloody blueprints one more time, or the security information, or scan for Talon activity, I'm going to…"

"Sleep?" Cobalt offered.

"Cry," Wes corrected, then let out a groan loud enough to hear through the door. Dante moved closer to the door, trying to keep his footfalls light and probably failing. "If I could have just gotten the bullet out—"

"You couldn't, Wes. And you _can't_ ," Riley said. Dante felt himself go rigid. "You've already done everything that you could."

"Yeah, but that's not exactly _enough,_ now is it? If I had moved a bit faster, then he might be able to shift without killing himself. Or… or if I had made the right calls, or—"

"He has his life. And use of his legs. That's a whole lot more than we were expecting when we brought him in," Riley said softly. "Besides, I'm the one who shot him. It's on me, not you. Now give Garret the damn clothing iron before you burn yourself again."

"No, I'm keeping this."

Dante swallowed, bracing himself on the wall. Truth was, he tried not to think about the bullet. He focused on the pain, and the stiffness, and the way he would sometimes lock up for hours, but the actual _bullet_ fell to the back of his mind. The fact that he couldn't shift into his true form registered, but he didn't like dwell on the reason, because there was nothing to be done about it. But there was a distant hope that he had clung to, that the real reason that it was still embedded in his spine was a decision on the underground's part to make sure that he wouldn't be able to hurt anyone.

Well. Wes couldn't take the bullet out. Not then, and not any time soon, either. The conversation made it pretty obvious. Which meant that, unless they found someone more qualified and with better equipment, he wouldn't be able to shift. Ever.

God, he missed flying.

"Finished," Wes said. "No bullet holes, no bloodstains, and on a first glance, it doesn't look like it was shoved into a plastic bag for one and a half months."

"Who knew you had so many hidden talents," a new voice yawned. Wait. That was _Ember._ Why was everyone up so early? "Dante's going to be fine. Everyone will be." It sounded like she was trying to convince herself of it more than anyone else.

Dante knocked on the door.

"Who is it?" Cobalt asked.

"It's Dante. I couldn't—" the door swung inwards, and Ember appeared in his vision. "—sleep."

Ember stepped aside and let Dante into the room. Cobalt, Garret, and Wes were all there, all looking like they hadn't gotten any sleep. Garret was sitting on one of the twin beds and gave him a nod. Dante smiled weakly. He hadn't actually spoken to the soldier-turned-rogue outside of meetings with the Order. He didn't know much about him other than the fact that he was Ember's boyfriend, and that Kain and Hamsah had tried to fist fight him about a month and a half prior. Cobalt was leaning against a wall, eyes flitting between him and Wes, who was standing by an ironing board, putting some sort of salve on his hand.

"How are you feeling?" Ember asked softly. "First mission, and all that."

"What am I supposed to be feeling?" Dante asked, trying to smile and make the question feel a bit less nervous than it was.

"Any pain when you breathe?" Wes asked as he collapsed the ironing board.

"None."

"Any fever symptoms?"

"Don't think so."

"Numbness or tingling in hands or feet?"

"Stop grilling him, _nursemaid,_ " Cobalt rolled his eyes and smirked, reaching over to ruffle Wes' hair. Wes batted his hand away. Dante took a seat next to Garret. It was still a strange sight for him, to see a human able to act so casual and around a dragon without fear. He would have thought it impossible.

"Well, since we're all up, and I assume that no one is planning on going back to sleep," Wes said, "we can run over the mission again. Make sure that you're as ready as you can be."

Dante nodded and bit the inside of his cheek, eyes wandering over to the desk, where he could see a suit draped over it. The suit that he was shot in.

"You'll get there around 1:00 pm. Tristan's acting as your bodyguard, just to get you through the checkpoint, and Mist will be in the trunk of the car. From there, the three of you need to get to the vessel's chambers as quickly as possible, neutralize any threats along the way quietly, plant the bombs, and use the mine shaft as an escape," Cobalt said. His voice wasn't hard, anymore, like it usually was when the two of them spoke. It sounded… sympathetic, maybe. Or concerned. Dante bit his cheek harder. "Remember, the only advantage that you have is that people are going to think that you're supposed to be there. The moment that illusion shatters, all three of you are dead."

"Thanks for the tip," Dante nodded.

"I'm serious, Infierno. If the facility goes on lockdown, you can either wait to be hunted down, interrogated, and killed—" Dante winced. "— _Or_ you plant the bombs and you go out in a blaze of glory."

"Thanks," Dante repeated. His voice cracked.

Ember walked over put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it, giving an encouraging smile, if a bit weak. Dante was still grateful for it.

"If it helps, everyone's nervous on their first field mission. But Tristan will watch your back, and Mist is good at what she does," she said. "It'll be in and out, and by tomorrow morning you'll be back here and wondering why you were so stressed about it in the first place."

"Is that what happened the first time you did one of these things?" Dante asked. Everyone in the room winced, and Ember rubbed at her chest. "No?"

"I lived with no lasting damage," Ember said. Dante managed to smile at that. Knowing his sister and her ability to get into bad situations, it hadn't ended well. But she still lived to tell about it. She had lived through a _lot,_ since the summer in Crescent Beach. He was going to live through whatever happened. He had to.

He had too many things to live for.

"Your suit isn't going to give you any protection, and you _cannot_ shift under any circumstance," Cobalt said softly. Dante shook himself. Mission. He needed to focus on the more pressing matter. "So you'll be the most exposed person there. It shouldn't be a problem, but it's something to keep in mind. After you start the countdown on the bombs, you'll have fifteen minutes to get out. You can't disarm the bombs once you start."

Dante nodded. "I remember."

"You also remember that if you try to sabotage the mission or sell anyone out, Mist and St. Anthony both have permission to shoot you. Neither will miss."

"I am well aware of it."

"Good," Cobalt said. He raked a hand through his hair and closed his eyes briefly. "Dante… I can't forgive what you've done." Dante felt himself freeze. He did _not_ want a speech. That made everything way too serious and deadly for his tastes. As if he wasn't coming back. "I probably don't know half of it. And I don't _want_ to know. But… we've all done things that we're not particularly proud of, and we've gotten a chance to do better. I truly believe that you're a good person, and you deserve a chance to remake your life and redefine who you are. So try to come back in one piece, Infierno. Or, just try to come back."

Dante pursed his lips and nodded. This was really it. He was sitting in a cramped bedroom next to his sister, and he was preparing to head off to a suicide mission. This could be the last time he'd ever see… anyone.

"Will do," he whispered.

No one tried to interrupt the silence. There was nothing left to say. Dante could say _goodbye,_ or he could apologize for what he had done, but the thought made his throat close up and his hands shake. He'd come back, and he'd have a thousand other times to say goodbye, and a thousand opportunities to apologize for his mistakes. This wasn't going to be the end.

Dante's eyes slid over to the alarm clock on the desk. 6:00. His hand found Ember's, and he gripped it tightly.

Garret stood abruptly. "I'm going to find Tristan. Make sure that he's ready for all of this."

"At least he's not being stuffed into the trunk."

Dante's head snapped toward the door, where Mist was standing. His breath caught in his throat. He had seen Mist around the farmhouse, and she had been to several meetings, but he hadn't been able to actually focus on her. Last time they had spoken, he had asked her to look after Ember. And the time before that…

Vegas was still a wound.

She looked different, now. She was wearing a lab coat on top of a black viper's suit, her hair was in a tight ponytail, and there was a backpack slung over her shoulder that Dante knew had bombs in it. But there were also other changes. Her posture was relaxed, even a bit slouched, and her face wasn't as guarded as it had been in Talon. She looked like a whole different person.

"Mist," Cobalt greeted. Garret took the opportunity to squeeze past into the hallway. "I see you're ready."

"I see that Mr. Hill is not," she replied. Dante grimaced and looked over at the suit. As comfortable as he had been in formal wear, he had nearly _died_ in that thing. He didn't want to wear it. "You should get changed. Everyone's already up, from what I can tell. No use waiting around."

Ember's hand tightened on his own, and Dante felt himself go cold. He wanted more time. He wanted to stay.

He stood up and grabbed his suit, giving a nod to Mist on the way out before he locked himself in the bathroom.

He was a _Chameleon._ A perfect liar, meant to adapt and blend into their situation while remaining true to Talon's assignment. There wasn't room for doubt or emotions. He didn't _need_ them, he didn't _want_ them, so he wouldn't _have_ them. Talon still saw him as a loyal follower, and he could play the part. They'd be fine. _Fine._

Dante looked at himself in the mirror and raked a hand through his hair. His cheeks were still hollow, his suit was looser than he remembered, and his hair was an uneven mess, but he had come into work looking worse. It was unprofessional, sure, but not a dead giveaway. He looked the part. He could play the part. It would be fine.

He was ready.

* * *

 **A/N: And so it begins. (14,000 words without injuring anyone!)**

 **Please drop me a review, it would mean a lot to me, and it makes me write faster.**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: I ended up combining two chapters into one for storytelling purposes, so this chapter is a bit longer than most. I hope that you enjoy it; I liked writing it, and I think that it's a good one.**

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Twelve hours ago, Dante was safe at the farmhouse, talking with Ember about the mission and how it would go.

And now he was back in Talon.

Dante was silent as the limo pulled up to the security checkpoint. St. Anthony, he had discovered, wasn't the best driver. It had only been forty minutes since they made the switch from the truck to the limo, and yet he had broken at least fifteen traffic laws by Dante's count. But he stared straight ahead, unruffled as the security guard checked him over.

"Name and business?" the guard asked.

"Najeeb Bayat, escorting Dante Hill to work," Tristan answered smoothly.

"Dante… _oh._ " The guard's eyes widened comically as he looked inside the car. Dante met his eyes coldly. "I— I didn't know that he was back."

"Well, he is," St. Anthony replied. "And he's busy. If we may?"

"Oh, of course, apologies," the guard broke his eyes away from Dante, and Tristan continued to drive into the underground lot. He hadn't even asked for ID.

 _Hurdle one cleared._

They parked right in the security camera's blindspot, and St. Anthony breathed an audible sigh of relief.

" _Fuck_ this car," he whispered before he popped the trunk and stepped out, opening the door for Dante. His eyes were carefully averted, but the twitch in his brow told Dante exactly how annoyed he was by the entire ' _bodyguard'_ situation. They were alone in the lot, thankfully, but that didn't mean that they could act sloppy. Mist appeared beside them and thrust a duffel bag into Tristan's arms wordlessly. Her face betrayed nothing— in the moment, she was nothing but a basilisk. She shouldered her own backpack.

"Remember, just because Dante has clearance _doesn't_ mean that there aren't people who know that he should still be missing," she murmured as they crossed to the elevator. "The less people who see our faces, the better. Understood?"

"Yes, ma'am," St. Anthony replied. He glanced around the elevator, and his eyes landed on Dante. "You alright, Greenie?"

"I'm fine," Dante said. He wasn't, but that was irrelevant.

"You'll need to be. Nerves and overconfidence will both kill you before a bullet ever could," he said. Then he must have seen Dante make some sort of expression, because he winced and tried to amend his tone. "Don't worry, Dante. It's my job to keep you safe, and I'm not about to take that job lightly. Swear on my name."

Dante took a breath and straightened his back as much as he could. He would be fine. This would _all_ be fine. Even if he couldn't defend himself, he had two people guarding his back that _could._

"Thank you," he said softly. The elevator dinged, and the three of them stepped off. His hands didn't shake, and his face remained in a default neutral expression. On the outside, he kept himself cool and composed next to St. Anthony and Mist, only walking at a slight limp as he led them confidently to the laboratory that held the adult vessels.

Part of him still cringed at the idea of bringing the entire building down just to kill the half-formed vessels. There were innocents in this compound, who were just trying to do their job. And there was _them_ in the compound as well, which was a little bit more concerning.

His ID card still worked, but he knew that every door he opened was being recorded in the databases, and eventually _someone_ was going to catch onto the fact that he was someplace that he wasn't supposed to be. After this, he would be hunted down like any other rogue.

"Mr. Hill."

Dante froze, barely repressing the urge to look behind him to make sure that Mist was out of sight. St. Anthony halted as a man walked towards him.

"Dr. Olsen," Dante greeted.

"I thought that you were… out of commision," he said, eyes raking over him like he was one of the specimen that he worked with. Dante repressed a shiver. He didn't like Dr. Olsen very much, even when he had been in Talon. He creeped Dante out. "A notice went out, that you were taken by Cobalt's rogues."

"I was, briefly, but I've returned and was cleared for duty last night. I wanted to catch up on work as soon as possible," Dante said. He furrowed his brow slightly. "Did you not get the notice? I could've _sworn_ that I sent one out this morning."

"No… I must have missed it. Apologies, Mr. Hill," he said. "Did Stealth find you?"

Dante clenched his jaw. He may not know _everyone_ in Talon, but he could recognize the name Stealth. She was the viper who kept St. George out of Latin America by killing any official who tried to set up a base there. People said that she would be as good as Lilith within a century. If _she_ was sent after him, and if she found him, then it would take lot to bring her down.

"No. I found a way out by myself."

"I'm glad that you managed to. It'll be good to have you back."

"Thank you," Dante nodded stiffly.

"Would you like me to send you the research that we've gathered in your absence? I was actually on my way out, but if you need the information, I'd be happy to—"

"That…" Dante paused. Dr. Olsen creeped him out, and his death would make it so the vessel project couldn't ever reform, but it was still one more death on Dante's head. And even if he _could_ rebuild the vessel project, most of the research and the material would be destroyed— it had taken sixteen years to get where they were. Keeping one of the scientists alive wouldn't speed up the process by much. "That will be unnecessary, Doctor. I think that today I'll be busy enough as it is, so it's nothing that can't wait until tomorrow."

"Oh. Well, good day, Mr. Hill."

"Dr. Olsen."

Dante left quickly, trying to conceal his limp even more than he already had. So, at least humans seemed to fall for the lie. Hopefully, that would be the only person they ran into. Dante slid his keycard into the last door that separated them from the growing lab.

"Oh, holy shit," Tristan whispered. Dante took a breath and nodded. He had wanted to react the same way, when he first saw it. Vessels the size of semi trucks and houses were in long tubes that stretched to the ceiling, all the same, eyes open and glassy like corpses. Everything was brightly lit, but that didn't change the sense of dread that the room emitted.

"We split up from here, and meet back here in three minutes," Mist appeared beside him. "The bombs will blow up the entire lab, but they'll do more damage the further apart they are. If anyone approaches us, we aim to kill. Here." Mist thrust a gun into Dante's hand, the silencer already on. "St. Anthony showed you how to use it?"

"Yeah."

"Great," Tristan said and unzipped his duffel. He pulled out a smaller bag and handed it to Dante. "There are only two bombs in there, so try and get the far side."

"If the alarm goes off while we're here, we're taking our remaining time to hunt you down and put a bullet in your head," Mist said. Dante gulped and nodded. "If anyone isn't back by three minutes, we leave without them. Clock starts… now."

Dante turned on his heel and walked into the lab, familiar with the walkways that would lead him to the further side. He could see Vessel Guards patrolling through the floor, and for once he was afraid of them. He knew that his voice could have been programmed out of their orders. Mist's already was. He didn't want to deal with them.

It took a minute and three seconds to reach the far end. Dante unshouldered the bag and took out a bomb— deceptively small and unassuming. He turned it on and pressed it to the nearest growing tube.

 _15:00_

 _14:59_

He didn't wait around any long as he made it way back, counting down in his head. At _14:25_ he took out another and stuck it on another tube, containing a vessel about his size, but barely more than bone and nerves.

Dante continued walking, the pain in his spine barely noticeable for once. _He_ was a vessel, according to Jade. Was this where he had been made, grown from synthetic DNA in a cold tube rather than an egg in the hatcheries? He walked faster, hand tightening around the gun in his hand. Thirty-six seconds before the three minute mark. He averted his path to avoid a group of vessels and made it back with nine seconds to spare. Tristan and Mist were both already there. Mist had blood on her lab coat.

"I took care of it," Mist said to answer his unspoken question. "We have twelve minutes. Lead the way, Mr. Hill."

Twelve minutes. Dante went out the exit and into another hallway, the twists and turns completely familiar to him. Tristan and Mist both went behind him, silent enough to melt into the shadows.

Eleven minutes. Through a different lab floor, for training and programming, keeping themselves far away from the scientists working.

A vessel patrolled past them and caught Dante's eye, cold grey and emotionless.

"Stand down," Dante hissed and raised his gun. It went rigid. _Thank God I can still do that._ "Continue patrolling as usual. These two are with me."

It blinked and began to walk. He heard Tristan give a breath of relief next to him.

"Fuckin' creepy," he whispered. "Come on, we're wasting time."

Ten minutes. They made it to the elevator, but it wasn't moving quickly enough for their deadline. It was old, still from the time when there was actually a mine in this mountain, and it acted like it, too. They should have used the emergency elevator.

Nine minutes.

Eight minutes. Dante breathed evenly and continued to walk through the corridor. He passed a few workers, but they didn't give him a second glance, and Tristan and Mist stayed hidden.

Seven minutes.

Six minutes.

Five minutes. They were so close. They just had one more door, and then they'd be in the mineshaft.

"Mr. Hill."

Dante went cold, blood draining from his face. Oh no. _Oh no._

He turned slowly and prayed that Mist and Tristan were nowhere to be found.

"Lilith," he said evenly. She stared at him with the edge of a smirk on her lips, like she knew perfectly well that he wasn't supposed to be in the compound. "I wasn't aware that you were stationed here."

"I wasn't aware that Cobalt hadn't gutted you," she replied. Dante carefully averted his eyes, fixing his vision on a point over her shoulder. "You should still be missing, Mr. Hill."

He was going to die. That was what was going to happen. Lilith _knew_ that he was still missing, he could tell. It wouldn't surprise him if she had been sent here to make sure that no one unwelcome came here in the first place. Such as himself. Tristan St. Anthony had said that he would protect him, but there wasn't anything that Dante could expect him to do.

Childishly, he still hoped that _one_ of them would intervene.

Dante just hoped that St. Anthony and Mist would find a way to escape.

"I've recently returned," Dante said, smile on his face. He should've woken up Kain and Hamsah. He should've said goodbye to Ember. He wanted that closure. "I'm trying to catch up on as much work as possible over the next week."

He was wasting time. If Lilith didn't kill him, then the bombs would.

"Of course," Lilith's smirk turned even more dangerous, a glint entering her eye. Dante wanted to take a step back. He was so close to being free.

"I never got the chance to congratulate you for the Night of Fang and Fire," she continued. Dante went cold. No. She could _not_ be bringing that up. Not right now. "The Western Chapterhouse is still… annoyingly present, but you were truly ruthless in your decision, especially when the rogue dragons showed up. You would've made a good Viper, if you weren't a better Chameleon."

Dante opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Lilith cocked her head.

"Is something wrong?"

"No. Nothing at all," Dante shook his head, but his voice shook with the lie. He didn't want Mist to hear what she had just said, or the soldier who he _knew_ was part of the Western Chapterhouse. Did she know that they were behind him? Was that why she said what she did— to keep from trying to help him?

 _Well, it probably worked._

Four minutes.

He tried to remember Ember. The time they ran away together during finals, the nights that she drew constellations all over his arms, the way she sat by his cot when he was sick and never _once_ gave up on him. This was what he was dying for.

And it was _worth_ it.

When he saw the flash of a knife in Lilith's hand, he didn't try to move away. No one would save him, anymore. He was okay with that.

Something grabbed the back of his shirt collar and threw him harshly to the ground. Dante hit the floor hard, back screaming the moment he landed and vision going grey for a few seconds. He was alive. He was alive. How was he still alive? Dante looked up, and his eyes went wide.

Tristan St. Anthony was standing between him and Lilith.

He drew his gun and aimed in an instant, but Lilith pulled it out of his grasp just as fast. Tristan hit her wrist hard and then kicked it, and the gun scattered out of both of their reach. Lilith aimed the knife at his side, and Tristan managed to block it, but it still left a gash across his arm. Tristan wasn't going to win this fight. Lilith was a _Viper._ What was he thinking?

"Get the fuck out of here, Hill!" He yelled. Dante gaped at him. St. Anthony wasn't expecting to win. He was buying time, so Dante and Mist could escape.

Lilith grabbed his wrist and twisted it hard, and Dante heard a distinct _pop,_ but St. Anthony didn't seem to register the pain. He managed to use the both of their weight to slam Lilith into the wall and get his arm back, only for the knife to come straight at his heart. He put up his open palm to block it, and stumbled back from the force of her attack. Lilith pulled the knife out of his hand and went for another blow.

It hit him square in the temple.

For a moment, the soldier was rigid, suspended by strings. He let out a small whimper.

And then Tristan crumpled.

Dante was frozen, staring at the body of Tristan St. Anthony. He was dead. He was _dead,_ because… because what? He wanted to buy Dante a bit more time? Why would he _do_ that? Dante couldn't move, even as Lilith turned her eyes on him, picking the gun up off the floor. Tristan was dead for nothing.

Two shots rang out. Dante could only close his eyes and hope that it was quick.

It was only when he heard the distinct sound of a corpse drop to the floor that he reopened them, still alive.

"Dante, we need to go," Mist grabbed his shoulder and pulled him off the floor. Dante couldn't take his eyes off of the scene. Lilith was on the floor, on her back, a bullet in her head and in her chest. Right beside Tristan, curled up away from Dante, as if his last moments were a desperate attempt to protect himself. "Come on. We have three minutes and thirty seconds before we _all_ die."

"Tristan," Dante whispered, taking a step towards the body. Thirty seconds was all it had taken for two people to die. And one of them should've been _him_.

"Dante, we don't have _time._ We can't bring his body back! We need to—"

Dante dropped to his knees beside the soldier's corpse, still warm under his jacket, knife embedded deep in his skull. He didn't know what to do. He couldn't be… he had been alive thirty seconds ago. Last night he had taught Dante how to shoot a gun.

"Dante, I will leave without you!"

Tristan's legs twitched, and Dante screamed.

"What the—"

"He's alive," Dante said. "Mist, he— he's alive, help me get him up, we— we'll get him back to the farmhouse, and they'll fix him, he's still—"

Mist was beside him in and instant, pulling Tristan up harshly. Tristan jerked in her grasp and inhaled sharply, suddenly scrambling to get to his feet, gasping for breath. Dante moved to help, letting him lean on him despite the feeling that his legs were about to buckle. Tristan was shaking, and his eyes were cloudy. Blood ran down his head and neck despite the knife still embedded in his head.

"We need to move fast. Don't make us ditch you, St. Anthony," Mist said. She left Dante to take most of Tristan's weight so she could wrench open the door leading to the emergency exit.

Three minutes. It was a three legged race, with Mist navigating through the tunnels ahead of them. Tristan clenched his shoulder hard, stumbling as he walked. Dante put a hand to the wall to keep the both of them up.

Two minutes. Incline. The walls became stone, only gaslights lighting the way. Tristan buried his face in Dante's shoulder, and every breath came out a whine. Dante could barely keep moving, his limp more and more defined as he had to hunch over.

One minute. Mist looked back at them, eyes darting between them and the exit up ahead.

" _Go!_ " Dante said. Mist growled and closed her eyes. "Please!"

She ran back to them and slung Tristan's other arm around her shoulder, taking half of his weight.

"You won't make it up the ladder alone," she said.

Thirty seconds. They reached the trapdoor, which Mist thrust open.

"Come on, St. Anthony. You're still in there. You survived a goddamn chapel being thrown on you. You're not gonna die just because of one well-placed knife," Mist growled as she climbed the ladder and offered him a hand up. Tristan shuddered weakly and took it. Dante thought that she was going to pull his arm out of his socket as she dragged him through the trapdoor.

Fifteen seconds. Dante grit his teeth and climbed up after him, every movement agony for his body that just wanted to lay down. He slammed the trapdoor, as if that would save them from a collapsing mineshaft.

Ten seconds. Mist and Dante hauled Tristan up, his feet dragging on the stone beneath him. Dante wasn't sure if he was alive, anymore, or if the movement had already twisted the knife too deep and killed him.

Five seconds.

Four. Dante could see the light up ahead.

Three. Mist broke off and broke open the padlocked gate.

Two. Dante followed. Tristan shifted ever so slightly, arm tightening on Dante's shoulders. And then they were out of the mineshaft, into the open air and the blinding light of the sun.

"One," Dante whispered.

The ground shook beneath them.

* * *

 **A/N: To be fair, I _did_ give y'all a fair warning about what was going to happen. And I got a total of 16,914 words without injuring anyone; that's _much_ further than the last installment of this series. It's not like I could let them pull of this mission without a single complication. Tristan just leads to the most options in the future. (Sorry, Tristan...)**

 **Anyway, please take a few seconds to review, or even just hit the Favorite button! It would really make my day!**


	8. Chapter 8

**Review Responses**

 **Guest (Chapter 1): I'm glad that you like it! I am not planning on shipping Dante with anyone, because I don't think a romantic subplot would add to the story, but I do hope to expand upon Dante's and Hamsah's friendship. They have an interesting dynamic.**

 **Guest (Chapter 2): I do enjoy writing Dante's nervous cleaning, and I had been anticipating Ember and Dante's reunion ever since I separated them in Chapter 8 (I think) of TaDitC.**

 **Guest (Chapter 3): Riley calls Dante Infierno because a) Riley has a thing about nicknames in canon, so I felt like it would be in character for him to give Dante one; and b)** _Infierno_ **is the Italian word for _Inferno,_ which is Riley's play off of Dante's Inferno. Because you know that Riley's going to pick a nickname that annoys Dante. **

**Guest (Chapter 4): I actually forgot about the smudges on the ceiling, but I'm glad that you liked the detail.**

 **Guest (Chapter 5): Yeah, Tristan's a bit too ride-or-die for his own good. But, in Ember's credit, she's kinda desperate at this point.**

 **Neyrriz (Chapter 7): Thank you! I love the countdown trope so much, and I was so happy when I got to use it! You're welcome for letting Tristan live. I can't give you any spoilers about his condition, but I** _can_ **say that I don't plan on letting him off as easily as Julie did when she dropped the chapel on him. I felt that I had to bring in Dr. Olsen somehow (and now he can be a recurring villain, right?), and I had long since been planning on having Lilith stab/shoot/etc _someone._ And now she's dead, so you don't have to worry about her ever again. And telling an author that their writing made them scream or cry is the highest compliment you can give them.**

* * *

 **A/N: This Chapter is a bit shorter than I'd like, but there wasn't anything that I could do about it, and the writing itself is good. So, enjoy.**

Chapter 8  
Ember

They had honestly locked her out of the command room.

"Pacing is _not_ going to improve the situation," Nettle said without opening her eyes. Ember groaned and tugged at her hair. It was even more tangled than usual, which was a testament to her levels of stress that had been mounting since 7:00. "And will you _please_ tell your boyfriend to stop doing that thing with his gun?"

Ember glanced towards Garret, who didn't even look up from field-stripping his glock. He had been assembling and disassembling it for the past two hours, ever since he was ordered to stop patrolling the grounds. Apparently his demeanor was causing 'unnecessary tension' among soldiers and hatchlings alike. She had only seen him so antsy once before, when he was preparing for his fight with the Patriarch.

Ember couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt; she had no doubt in her mind that Tristan had told Garret about his conversation with Ember. Garret knew that he had promised to sacrifice himself for Dante if it came down to it. The very same promise that gave Ember the smallest bit of reassurance had to be wreaking havoc in his mind.

Ember didn't regret asking Tristan to make that promise. And, if it truly came down to him or Dante, she wasn't even sure that he would be able to honor it. He barely had attachments to _Ember,_ let alone some dragon that he didn't know. She wouldn't blame him if he held his own life above Dante's.

"Garret," she said softly. Garret paused for a moment. "Don't scare Nettle."

"I'm not _scared._ "

"No, no, it's fine," Garret sighed and finished assembling the gun. Safety clicked on. "I should know better. It's just… I want to know what's happening in there. Mist is a known rogue, Tristan's a soldier, and Dante's supposed to be missing. It would be _so_ easy for this to go sideways. For all we know, the reason that there's so much radio silence is because they're… they were caught, or they never got past the security checkpoint, or—" he paused and shook his head. " _God._ I should've gone instead. I'm better with this sort of fieldwork than Tristan is."

"Well, there's nothing you can do about it, now," Nettle breathed. Ember's eye twitched. "There's no use in worrying about something if there's nothing that you can do about the outcome."

"You learn that from Jade?" Garret asked. He stood and opened the window. "Sounds like a Jade thing to say. When she isn't cussing out Riley in Chinese or beating me in poker at three in the morning."

"I did, actually. It's called mindfulness— allowing thoughts to appear and pass without lingering on them. I'm very bad at it. You should try."

Garret bit the inside of him cheek, going still for a few seconds.

"Nope. Got happening. My best friend is on a suicide mission, and no one is letting me into the _room_ to _check up on him._ "

The door slammed open hard enough to bounce off the wall. Everyone jumped, and Garret nearly raised his gun.

"They're out," Riley said. Ember drew in a shaking breath. That was supposed to be good news, but Riley looked frenzied. "We're meeting them halfway, and you two need to come with us."

"What's wrong?" Garret shoved his gun in the waist of his sweatpants. "Are they being pursued? Did the bomb—"

"We've only got bits and pieces of what happened, but they ran into Lilith in the compound," Ember's jaw dropped. _Lilith?_ She hadn't heard a word from her ever since Crescent Beach, but the name itself was enough to send cold fear into her nerves. "St. Anthony took a knife to the head. He's not dead yet, but if we want him to stay that way, we need to get to him, and fast. The doctor in St. George has an ambulance, and she and Wes are setting it up now. Thought that you two should come to keep your counterparts calm."

Garret was out the door the moment that Riley finished his sentence, and Ember was right after him. Dante was alive. He was fine. Her brother was coming back to her. But Tristan had gone up against _Lilith._ It was a shock enough that he was alive now, let alone when they reached him. Why had Lilith even _been_ there?

Garret and Ember climbed into the ambulance the second before it started moving. Wes was also beside them, talking rapidly into an earpiece with his laptop open on the gurney, trying to set up the cab to be ready for action.

"The most important thing right now is that the knife _cannot_ move. From the picture you sent me, it probably didn't hit his optic nerve or anything _too_ important in his brain, but you have about a millimeter of wiggle room. Okay? Keep pressure on the temporal artery... What kind of a question is— it's probably severed. Go about an inch behind the knife, find the blue line in his skin, and press down on it _hard_. If it keeps bleeding this much, tell me. At this rate he has… _maybe_ an hour before he loses too much blood to replace, so you _have_ to keep pressure on the wound." Wes said. His eyes flitted over to Garret, who had turned grey. His jaw was trembling.

Garret had never cried in front of her, before.

"St. George. What's his bloodtype?"

"B neg," Garret whispered.

"That's the least bloody helpful blood type out there." Wes shook his head and reached over to a drawer. "Well, we _do_ have B neg, so lucky him. He'll need the transfusion."

Garret sniffed, and Wes paused in setting up the cab. His gaze softened fractionally.

"Doctor Grace and I know what we're doing. No funeral, yet," he said, covering his earpiece as he spoke. Garret nodded. "Really, Sebastian. Your friend lived through the initial attack. That's a lot more than I would expect out of a human. His chances aren't good, but they're a lot better than we could hope for."

Garret nodded and buried his face in his hands, a whine making its way out of his throat as he tried to keep himself from crying. Ember could see Wes' eyes watch the two of them, brow creased. She could feel the road smooth out beneath them as they came onto a highway, but they weren't moving fast enough.

 _Hang in there, Tristan._ Ember prayed, not sure who she was hoping would hear her. _This resistance is going to need you soon. And I don't think Garret would ever recover from your death._

Wes jolted beside them, eyes widening. "Yes, I'm still here. What's the problem?" he pressed a hand to his earpiece and winced, sitting back down. "It's okay, that's why I'm here. What you're going to need to do is pinch the artery shut. You'll both need to change your gloves and Mist will need to get the scalpel from the first aid kit. Do exactly what I say, understand? And don't let your hands shake."

"Don't listen to him, Garret," Ember whispered. She couldn't tell him that Tristan would be fine, because it would be a lie. Garret was crying openly, at this point. "Wes knows what he's doing. He's patched up Riley before, and pulled a bullet out of both of your chest. He'll do everything he can for Tristan."

Two and a half hours passed. Wes kept them as updated as possible, but they could still only hear snippets of the conversation. Tristan was still hanging onto life, barely. They turned off onto a back road and stopped. Wes opened the doors and pulled out the gurney. Ember could see the van, quiet and unassuming, parked at the side of the road. Doctor Grace, the doctor from St. George, wrenched open the back doors.

Even from Ember's position, she could smell the blood. It all sounded like chaos to her, but Wes and Doctor Grace worked together seamlessly as they loaded him onto a stretcher. Ember got out of the back of the ambulance just as the gurney passed her, and she caught a glimpse of Tristan's state.

Blood stained his face and neck, all coming from the knife embedded deep in his temple. Even though Doctor Grace was forcefully pinching down on one of the arteries in his head, the wound was still bleeding weakly. His eyes were half-lidded and glassy, and his skin had gone from brown to a cold grey.

He looked dead.

Ember turned back to the van, and her breath caught.

"Dante," she whispered. There has was, standing beside the van, staring at nothing. His hands and suit were both covered in dark blood. For a moment, Ember could only remember when it was Dante's own blood that covered him, and _he_ was the one on death's door. Ember walked over to him and hugged him tightly.

"It's my fault," he rasped. "It's all my fault."

"No," Ember said. "You didn't do this to him. That was Lilith."

"He did it to protect _me,_ " Dante whispered. He wrapped his arms around her, and she could feel the blood soak through her clothing. There was so much of it. She didn't know how much blood humans could afford to lose. She didn't know if Tristan even had a _chance._ "After— after everything that I've done, and he— I'm the one that should've died, and now..."

Ember felt her chest grow tight and cold.

Tristan kept his promise.

"It was his choice, Dante," she said. She could remember the steel in Tristan's eyes as he spoke to her in the attic. _**My**_ _choice,_ he had told her. But she was the one who asked him to make the promise. She had put that idea in his head. "And… I asked him to protect you. If you want to blame someone, then you can blame me."

"But he— if I had just—" Dante shuddered and choked back a cry. "If— oh, god."

Ember closed her eyes. This was on her. She had asked Tristan to make the promise, that if it came down to him or Dante, then he'd make sure that it was him. And it had come down to him or Dante. If he died… Ember knew that it would be Lilith's doing She was the one that had attacked him and embedded that knife in his head. But she knew that she also played a part. She'd be the one to carry the guilt.

But in the end, she had her brother back with her.

 _Was it worth it?_

Ember tightened her hold on Dante, still real and warm and _alive._ Blood continued to soak through her clothes, staining her skin with red, and she faintly realized that it was already cold.

* * *

 **A/N: So, Tristan's still alive. That counts for something.**

 **I don't know when I'll post the next chapter; it's the one that I kinda just threw in there last week, so there's still a lot of editing to be done to it, and school is starting to pick up for me. I'm still on track to finish posting before the end of January, though, so no worries! (Please drop a review; it encourages me to work faster.)**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Hey, I'm back. This chapter gave me some problems, but I'm happy with how it turned out. So, enjoy and tell me what you think!**

* * *

Chapter 9

She should have terminated Dante Hill the moment she knew that he couldn't be her vessel.

Forty-one days ago, her so-called son was supposed to have gone to a short diplomatic mission to China. She had asked for him to take a quick detour in Chicago before he went, just to check on the Vault and inquire as to how Cobalt had gotten information on the Patriarch. It was honestly less about security and more to remind Nabu— although these days he had taken to calling himself the _Archivist_ — that she was still watching over him. She didn't actually believe that her old friend had done anything to jeopardize the organization that they had built together, but it was good form to send someone to talk to him every few years.

Dante had never made it to the Vault, though. He had been kidnapped from his hotel room, out from under his human bodyguards. Most likely shot as well. One of the humans had died in the fight from a bullet to the chest, but the other had lived, and he had seen the culprits behind the kidnapping. Mist Anderson, the former Basilisk who had broken her daughter out of the lab; and Cobalt, who had been making her life insufferably difficult for the past eleven years.

Since that day, The Elder Wyrm had considered a number of possibilities. She had hoped for a hostage exchange; her Chameleon son for their safety. She had expected to never hear from him again; for Cobalt to keep Ember's dearest brother away from the battle front, so he couldn't do any more damage than he already had. She prepared to lose some ground and for further attacks to take place, in case information was coerced for forced out of him. She had even entertained the idea that she'd find his body dumped in front of one of their facilities, eventually, just to send a message.

What she had _not_ considered was that her son, the golden child, ever loyal to the Talon Empire, would turn on her so quickly. Even though she had admitted to herself that he be turned against Talon with enough time, she assumed that he wouldn't find it in himself to strike against it with a _vengeance_.

But oh, was she wrong.

The lab in Appalachia was gone. Blown up. She had expected an attack there eventually, as Cobalt wore Dante down into submission— there was a reason that she sent Lilith there to train the vessels instead of having her track down Dante and bring back Ember. She _hadn't_ expected Dante himself to be leading it. He had poured his life and soul into the Vessel project, coming in after hours and on weekends and when he was sick and keeping detailed of every success and failure. It was almost as if part of him _knew_ that he was technically the first Vessel of his kind and theirs. Part of him knew that the Vessels he worked so hard to develop were made in his own image. And that part of him should've kept him from tearing the project to the ground and blowing up the building for good measure.

But the evidence of his willing involvement was staggering. A guard had put him into the system, which he wouldn't have done unless Dante was there in person. His ID had been used minutes before the explosion. Dr. Olsen said that he had seen Dante in the compound, along with another man. Her golden child had ruined sixteen years worth of planning. And, just to rub salt into the wound, _he_ was the best and the most expendable Vessel to do any sort of experimentation on, and _he_ had retreated back to Cobalt's underground. No doubt that he'd be as difficult to retrieve as his sister.

 _To their credit, it was a good plan, and they carried it out very well._ She thought to herself, scanning over the disaster report. Everyone who had been in the building was dead, save for a small handful of humans. Most of the research was still there, either in the Talon database or in the minds of the surviving scientists, but the tools they had to use the research was gone. Sixteen years of work down the drain in the span of an hour. They'd have to start from scratch. There were still a few hundred remaining vessels, and sixty-two of them were the newly awakened ALPHA strain, but they were now a _very_ finite resource. She'd have to use them carefully until they could restart the program, which would take years that she couldn't afford to waste.

And then there was the _other_ matter. The one that angered her on a deeper level than a destroyed experiment, because at the end of the day, she could rebuild the experiment. The other matter was on a _personal_ level.

Lilith. The dragon that the Elder Wyrm had trained herself, the perfect student, the perfect _killer,_ was dead.

Her failed experiment of a son would pay for that with _blood_.

The rogue network, as much as she loathed to admit it, had won this battle, and the battle before that in the breeding facilities. They were growing stronger ever since they allied with the remaining Order of St. George, and their strength would only increase as the two networks learned how to work together. She couldn't give them an opportunity to gain any more ground.

Which came to the decision in front of her: _Carrion Days_.

It was a ' _last resort, disaster relief'_ type of plan that she had made to follow the Night of Fang and Fire, but it would slow the resistance down and keep them from gaining any additional allies, at least until she could meet with her executives and figure out their next step. And, even better, they didn't need to use vessels for it. There shouldn't even be deaths on their side. Everyone that she needed for the job was the best of the best. And they were in the conference room, waiting for her orders.

The Elder Wyrm strode into the meeting room, eyes sweeping across the table as she took her seat and put a stack of folders in front of her. The already-quiet whispers between the the eight people at the table turned into dead silence immediately. Most of them looked visibly uncomfortable, with crossed arms and tense posture, but they weren't afraid by any means. She knew that they were more accustomed to receiving their orders through a dropbox location, or a private, one-on-one meeting with a superior. They were unused to corporate buildings, conference rooms, or even seeing each other in person.

"Hello," she said softly, although it may have well been a shout compared to the silence of the room. The girl who sat on the far left chair looked at her with unflinching eye contact, her face an emotionless mask. She had only been off the field for about two hours, and hadn't even been able to change out of her uniform, but she appeared unruffled by the tight schedule.

"It's an honor, ma'am," she said levelly. No one else spoke. So they had already found their new leader. Good. "I assume that this is more important than tracking down your son? I'd hate to fail another mission."

"Dante Hill is a traitor, and has allied himself with Cobalt's Underground. You are relieved of your duties with no penalty," the Elder Wyrm said shortly. The girl looked away, a hint of guilt flashing through her face before it was gone— it had been her mission to kill Cobalt years ago, but she had failed. It was a miracle that she survived at all, after he rendered her wings and right arm nearly useless. If it hadn't been for her failure, this resistance wouldn't exist, and Talon would be on its way to reasserting dragons as the dominant species of the world.

But that was in the past. Stealth had long since made up for the mistake, and had driven herself to become one of the best Vipers in Talon, right beside Lilith. She had only failed two assignments in her entire career; killing Cobalt, and having one of her students go rogue. Everything else she did perfectly without fail. A testament to her ambition.

"Due to recent events, we'll be initiating emergency protocol _Carrion Days,_ " The Elder Wyrm said. A few of the dragons straightened slightly. "As you already knew, this operation is a last resort. In a perfect world, we'd be unleashing our full power on the world within the year. However, we're experiencing a… hiccup, so to say, with the resistance. We need disaster relief before we can properly move forward." she paused, looking over the eight dragons and the empty seat across from her. Their numbers were one down, but they could adjust.

"We cannot attack the Order nor Cobalt's underground at this point. We don't know where they are, and they've joined ranks into an organized unit, which would mean any attack would lead to deaths on our end as well as theirs. However, what we can do is eliminate the chance for them to join forces with others." She slid the stack of folders to the center of the table, and the dragons silently passed them around. They weren't a wordy group; any critical information was just as easily read than spoken.

"Stealth will be taking point on this mission. You report to her, and she reports to me. All of your targets must be taken care of quickly and quietly, before they can realize what's happening and join ranks with one another. Understood?"

Echoes of _understood_ fell from their lips as they read through their list of targets. Names, ages, last known location, and how much of a threat they posed. Nothing else needed to be said. These were Talon's best, an elite team that knew how to kill and do so mercilessly. They had all worked with one another at one point, and had trained for a mission such as this before. The death of the one who was _meant_ to be their leader was regrettable. A sore point for everyone in the room, including the Elder Wyrm herself. But Lilith would not be forgotten, and her death would only make the team more driven to do this mission correctly. This was how she could be honored.

Lilith had been the one to help create the plan for Carrion Days, after all.

"Good," The Elder Wyrm finally said and stood. The others stood as well. "You'll depart to China in seven days."

* * *

 **A/N: TO BE CONTINUED IN THE DISTANT FUTURE. (Yes, I know that y'all are probably more interested in whether or not Tristan's alive, but foreshadowing is necessary to maintain fluid writing. Julie did it in every epilogue, right after she did something horrible to Garret in the last chapter. I'm just following in the footsteps of a master. And wouldn't it be so much worse if I just ended the story here and went off into a hiatus instead of having another chapter written up to be published in the near-future?) Writing the Elder Wyrm was a fun challenge, and I hope that I did her justice. She was really blindsided by her Traitor Children this installment.**

 **It's just now that it's sinking in that there's going to be no quick end to this mini-series. Dante's not even my favorite character, yet here I am, 50,000 words into giving a redemption arc to an incredibly killable goblin child with no end in sight. (I actually do know the vague ending, no worries there. I have no idea how they'll get there, but I have an ending point)**

 **To those who may not remember: Stealth is NOT an OC. She was mentioned in rogue as the Viper that tried to kill Cobalt. She probably shouldn't be alive, but I didn't want to create an OC when there's a perfectly capable character that has a lot of stake in burning the resistance to the ground.**

 **Nabu, on the other hand, is not the confirmed name of the Archivist. I didn't think that the Elder Wyrm would call him _The Archivist_ in her private thoughts when she (likely) knows his birthname, so I made one up. Nabu is the Babylonian God of many intelligence-based persuits, so it's fitting.**

 **One more chapter to go, guys! Please drop a review and make my soul happy!**


	10. Chapter 10

**Review Responses**

 **Guest (Chapter 6): Dante's learning! It's a bit slow, but it's impressive, considering that it's really only been about six weeks. I _do_ like writing Wes and Riley's relationship. It's a shame that I couldn't include them a bit more in this part of the story.**

 **Guest (Chapter 7): Mist is the most competant person on this mission, and everyone knows it.**

 **Guest (Chapter 8): Dr. Grace is NOT a canon character. There was a medic mentioned in canon, but she wasn't named, so I made one up. I assumed the Order would want to send their own medic instead of just Wes**

 **Guest (Chapter 9): Thank you for saying that I wrote the Elder Wyrm well! It's tough to write someone so unlike any of the people that I'm used to. She was pretty blindsided by Dante. He didn't even give her time to prepare after the breeder islands, he just told them where the lab was and offered to go in. Anyone would be surprised.**

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 **A/N: Last chapter of** _From the Truth of a Thousand Lies_ **is up, where I finally address the mess called chapters 7 and 8 for you! Enjoy Dante's moral crisis 2.10.**

Chapter 11  
(Dante)

He could still smell the blood and the smoke.

Dante had taken a shower, changed into new clothes, and scrubbed his hands raw, but the scent was still trapped in his nose. The ground had threatened to collapse on them as they ran, and the billowing ash and dust from the lab had followed them like a wronged spirit. Tristan's blood had stained his hands red as he tried to keep the bleeding to a minimum, as Mist had cut open part of his head so Dante could pinch shut a severed artery, as Tristan's feeble twitches stopped and his pulse became weaker and weaker until Dante couldn't even feel it. Mist had nearly pronounced him dead before Wes and the other doctor even reached them. He had been so _cold._

 _You would've made a good Viper, if you weren't a better Chameleon._

Why had Tristan done that, after what Lilith had said? There wasn't any way someone would twist the words to make Dante innocent. Tristan had _known_ that Dante was responsible for the destruction of the Western Chapterhouse. Of _his_ Chapterhouse. It would've been in his right to let Dante die then and there, regardless of any promise he had made Ember. Why would he make that promise in the first place? It made no sense. _Nothing_ made sense, anymore.

"Hey, tweedledum."

Dante didn't look up as Ember sat down at the foot of the porch chair, leaning back against his legs. His ban from the outdoors had been officially lifted; he knew that he was supposed to feel happy about that, but any emotion had been suffocated with the weight of the mission. Tristan had chosen to die for him. Mist knew about the Night of Fang and Fire. Tristan had chosen to _die_ for him.

"How are you holding up?" she asked softly.

"I…" Dante swallowed. "I'm alive. Counts for something." He could still see Lilith, eyes blank and expression slack, blood leaking from the hole in her head. Even though she would've died anyway, even though he didn't pull the trigger, even though she would've _killed_ him, the memory made him sick. She wouldn't even have a body to recover.

"I just got back from the medical tent," Ember said. Dante stiffened, hands curling into fists. He didn't think he could forgive himself if someone died for him. Tristan hadn't even _known_ him, and he had went into a fight that he couldn't hope to win.

"Tristan lost a lot of blood, but he got a transfusion, and they're keeping him on fluids, so that shouldn't be a problem. The… the biggest problem is that there was some brain damage. They can't evaluate it until he wakes up, but it's not looking good. They're trying to hope for the best and prepare for the worst" She pulled at a lock of hair and shivered as a breeze blew past them. Autumn was definitely coming to a close. Dante wondered if it snowed, wherever they were. He hadn't ever seen snow, before.

"He has eye damage, too, but they think that will heal quickly, and it shouldn't have lasting damage. It will just be unpleasant for a few days," she continued. "The doctor put him in a medically induced coma, so he can recover a bit easier. Assuming that he lives through the next few hours, they think that he'll be able to come out of it. You… I know that you probably want to talk to him. I know that _I_ do. But that's not going to be able to happen anytime soon. But… he's alive. That's a lot more than we could've hoped for."

Dante nodded and realized that his hands were shaking. "But there's brain damage."

"Yeah. Laceration to his… temporal lobe, I think? I don't know, I don't really understand medical things," Ember said. She snorted. "You'd think that, with everything I've gone through, I'd actually take some time to… read something, or ask Wes questions, or _anything,_ but I still can't even do my own stitches. I guess it is something that I should look into."

Dante didn't reply, and Ember didn't try to carry the conversation any further. They were both left to think on their own. Tristan had _known_ that Dante was responsible for his Chapterhouse. He still knew, even if he couldn't share the information. And Mist knew, too.

What was going to happen with him?

"When Tristan and I spoke in the attic, I asked him to look after you," Ember said softly. Dante had guessed as much, but he didn't interrupt. "I _asked_ for him to put you above the mission, but what I… what I really wanted was for him to put you above his life. I didn't admit it to him, or even to myself, really, but he guessed as much, and… he promised that he'd do it. I don't know why. I didn't have the right to ask him to do it. And he… he kept his word. He's good at doing that, apparently." she paused and shivered again. "You know what he told me when we were in the attic?"

Dante swallowed. "What?"

"He said that I wasn't allowed to feel guilty if he died. It was his choice to do it. If _I'm_ not supposed to feel guilty after I asked him to… to put you first, then there's no reason that you should feel it, either."

"If I had moved faster—"

"You couldn't outrun Lilith. Trust me, I've _tried,_ " Ember said. "Tristan knew the risks, and he accepted them. Might've been a knee-jerk reaction, but it was his choice. You didn't cause any of this. What you _did_ do is save him from dying in that explosion. And even if you hadn't gotten him out alive _,_ you would've given the other soldiers a body to bury. That means a lot." She sighed and stood up slowly. "You've changed a lot since you came here, Dante. I'm proud of you."

Dante couldn't meet her eyes. _If only you knew what I've done._

The door opened.

"Dante."

Dante's head shot up to see Mist, back into her regular clothing, staring at him without a hint of emotion. She closed the door behind and leaned against the porch railing, keeping unwavering eyes contact. Dante looked away.

Mist knew about the Chapterhouse. The one secret that Dante hoped that he could take to the grave.

"Could I have some time with your brother, Ember? To talk about what happened?" she asked. Ember hesitated, her brow crinkling from worry. "Don't worry, he's safe, now. You'll have all the time in the world. There's just some things that happened that I'd like to work through."

Ember stayed in place for another moment before she nodded. "I guess _someone_ has to keep Garret from sleeping on the floor of the medical tent. I'll be there if you need anything," she said.

Mist remained silent as Ember disappeared, seemingly content to let the both of them do nothing but think for a few moments.

"Have you told Cobalt, yet?" Dante asked softly.

"No," Mist replied. "He's… everyone inside is having a celebration. Without the vessel project able to continue, we're fairly safe, so they're taking the opportunity to get morale up. Cobalt is the happiest I've seen him ever since I went rogue. I don't want to ruin tonight with bad news."

Dante swallowed. "But you _will_ tell him."

"There were five of his kids that died in that raid. He deserves to know who did it," Mist said. She was right, of course, but her words felt like a death sentence. Not just because of the punishment that he'd have to face, either. His friendship with Kain and Hamsah, the bridge of almost-trust with Astatine, Ember's pride in what he had done… it was all going to be taken from him, and there was nothing that he could do about it.

"Are you going to tell the Order?"

"I'm not sure, yet. If Tristan wakes up, is in his right mind, and remembers what happened, it'll be his decision whether or not to tell them, not mine. If he doesn't have the option for whatever reason, then I'll tell Riley and see how it goes from there. Whether or not it feels like a good idea from his point of view."

Dante nodded.

"I will tell you this much: if we _do_ tell the Order, then chances are that we'll have to hand you over to their mercy," Mist said softly, her voice almost sympathetic. "Keeping alliances, showing good faith. I'm sure that you understand."

Dante took a shaking breath and nodded, keeping his gaze fixed on the ground. He could understand the unspoken words in the air: if she told the Order, he would be executed. There wasn't even a question. It _did_ make sense. It's something that he would've done, if he were back in Talon and in a similar situation. The Order and the Underground needed the alliance. More boots on the ground, more forces unified against Talon. His life threw a wrench in everything.

"Ember would have a _fit,_ though," she muttered before lapsing into silence, hopping up on the porch railing to watch the sunset. There were a few clouds in the sky, but it wasn't about to rain anytime soon. Their silence was only broken by the sounds inside the house. The dragonelles and the underground _were_ celebrating, from the sounds of it. The Order probably was, too, even if Dante imagined that it was a bit more heavy, since it was _their_ representative that had nearly died. That ccould still die for _him,_ who had tried to kill everyone less than two months prior.

"Two years ago," Mist said softly, "I blew up a refugee center in Mexico." Dante looked up. Mist was still sitting on the porch railing, staring off into the cornfields. "They were sending supplies to St. George. Not weapons, or anything. Just medicine. But we needed to send a message to groups that stood with St. George instead of us, and they were the easiest target. They also had civilians inside from all over Latin America. Parents, children, _innocents_ … I did my job, and I didn't care for a second."

Dante snorted softly. "What, are we trying to compare shitty things that we've done for Talon? I think that we'd be evenly matched, Ms. Anderson."

"You'd be surprised," Mist shook her head. "I've done… a lot of things that I'm not proud of. My moral compass doesn't point straight north. I doubt it ever will." She went quiet, then gave a long sigh. "A few weeks ago, if we were in that laboratory, I would've slit St. Anthony's throat the moment you told me that he was still alive. Given him a quick, clean death and moved on. But now… this underground is my second chance, so I can do better." She finally looked away from the horizon, glancing towards him for a moment. "I hope that it can be yours, too."

Dante looked out into the fields and leaned back in the chair. Numbly, he realized that he was truly a rogue, now. He could never make it to the top and find freedom in the power that it granted him, like he had dreamed of for his entire childhood. Those sixteen years of study and work were _gone_. If he went back to Talon, he'd be killed for what he did.

And strangely enough, he didn't regret it.

"I think it already is."

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 **A/N: Wow. And it's over.**

 **I think that it goes without saying, but I'm going to write a third installment of this series in the near-future. Probably a fourth, too. There's a lot to address in these 20,000 words. I don't know when I'm going to post them; I have another few stories that I'm working on, and they take my attention at the moment. (I also have school and stuff).**

 **Please drop me a review, I'd really love to hear your thoughts on my work, or what you think will happen / want to happen in the future of this universe! Thanks for sticking with me for 50,000 words!**


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